It Always Rains
by Winnett
Summary: Dark conspiracies, unlikely friendships and the endless weeping of the sky.  Harry must follow a trail of clues to not only save his friend, but perhaps even the British wizarding world.  HarryxDraco, RemusxSirius
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** It Always Rains  
**Author:** winnett  
**Pairing/Characters:** Harry/Draco, Remus/Sirius  
**Rating:** PG-R  
**Genre**: Adventure/Romance/Mystery  
**Summary:** Dark conspiracies, unlikely friendships and the endless weeping of the sky. Harry must follow a trail of clues to not only save his friend, but perhaps even the British wizarding world. H/D, S/R  
**Warnings:** Male/male sexual situations, violence.  
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction based in the world created by J.K.Rowling. They aren't mine and I make no money from them. I just like to let them out to play.  
**Author's notes:** Thanks so much to my betas NK, KF, fomp, and serenitysmiles who have stood by me down this long path. This story began before Deathly Hallows and contains no spoilers or events from the final book.

* * *

**Chapter 1**  
_"Even Angels would be homesick in this forsaken town."  
__The Ataries – Unopened Letter to the World_

It was casual the way he stood, leaning against the wrought iron railing that protected the dim-witted masses from tumbling in their inebriated state from the second floor to a most unwelcome stop below. He smoked a cigarette, holding a tumbler of scotch on the rocks in his other hand. His keen, piercing gaze surveyed the dancing crowd below him, thronging to the hypnotic beat, rubbing their bodies together like a distorted orgy where, in this case, everyone was clothed. He loved it. Watching these people thrash and flail in ecstasy on _his_ dance floor, warmed by a bluish glow emanating from underneath.

Everything was tinged with that same faint blue glow; the lights in the corners offering pale illumination to those sitting close at private tables, the hovering strobes that painted the people dancing below. Thick glass walls filled with bubbles and distortion, and layered with privacy charms, partitioned the two-story wizarding club, offering some seclusion to the patrons while still allowing them to be a part of the constant party.

He took a sip of his amber drink, snuffed the cigarette out in an ashtray, and walked towards the open stairs heading down. He didn't walk as much as strut, swaying side to side like a gangster king patrolling his royal hood, chin high like a regal head of state, and to him the masses did bow.

Sycophants, all of them.

He expressed a typical disdainful look, suggesting he walked amongst dogs belly-crawling for favours and scraps from his table. He loved their adoration, but he despised their mindless fawning. Gliding up to the bar, backlit by a wall of blue falling rain, he leaned towards the young barmaid and whispered in her ear. She smiled and nodded at him, simultaneously mixing a fizzing drink while spelling a rag to wipe down the counter. He turned away and walked towards a back door, nodding to people as he passed them, their eyes aglow with adulation.

This was Rain. This was Draco's club. He designed it. He ran it. He owned it.

It was his magnum opus.

Passing through a thick door leading into the back halls, the music completely cut off by well placed silencing charms, Draco was approached by Tyrone Bledsoe, the club's head bouncer and his own personal bodyguard. At six foot five, 18 stone, Draco's sergeant in arms embodied intimidation and strength, but more importantly, he knew how to handle most situations without question and understood the meaning of discretion, so unlike Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco liked him just fine, even if he was a Muggle-born.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco may have looked up at his bouncer, but it was Tyrone who was showing the respect. "Yes Mr. Bledsoe, what can I do for you?"

"There is a situation, sir."

"Something you can't handle?" Draco asked, apparently unconcerned.

"Correct," Tyrone replied in his reverberating, deep voice. Simple, straightforward.

One eyebrow shot up. Draco crossed his arms and adopted a look that showed just how unimpressed he was.

"Well?"

"Michael found a body in the back alley. A woman. I think you should come and check it out. She appears to be a witch."

This startled Draco, though a casual observer would never have noticed any difference in the aristocratic man's relaxed stance. The last thing he needed was to draw any unwanted attention from the Ministry; he was already scrutinized enough since his return to England.

"Show me."

He followed the tall, black man through the halls, past the kitchens to the receiving dock in the alley. It was dark back here and generally filthy; Draco didn't like it, not like the pristine front of his club full of everything beautiful. He felt it needed a good scouring charm. The huge bay doors stood open to the chilly winter evening. A light rain pattered on the concrete, filling puddles in each depression. They walked across the landing and saw the janitor, Michael, standing next to the body. It lay next to the blue dumpster under an awning, sprawled with no form or grace, just a limp body, heaped in a gauche moment of death.

With swift, concise steps Draco descended the short set of stairs from the landing to the alley and walked up to the prone form, releasing a frustrated sigh and a soft curse. He knew this woman.

* * *

"I'm sorry Kingsley, but I can't do it anymore." Harry slammed his gloves down on his desk, bright red like his uniform robes. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt stoically stood by, letting the young Auror vent some steam. Harry was one of the best, even if he overreacted at times.

"Are you even going to say anything?" Harry yelled. He was tired of people placidly standing by when he was yelling. He wanted someone to yell at—or perhaps with, and Ron was out on assignment and his boss just stood there with that infuriating, understanding look on his face.

Kingsley received Harry's angry words, one set in a litany of frustration that Harry delivered with utter abandon. Harry knew that yelling at Kingsley wasn't going to solve anything; he knew that his boss had no new advice to offer. Things didn't quite work the same as they did when they were at war, quick and dirty. Now there were policies and regulations and proper ways to arrest known Death Eaters and other dark wizards.

Now there was red tape.

But for the first time Kingsley looked worried, and this surprised Harry. They had been dancing this tango of complaints and appeasement for over six months and this was the first time Harry admitted he couldn't keep up with the blind idealism of the Ministry.

"I've had it. You will have my resignation papers on your desk in—oh, about fifteen minutes." He sat down hard on his uncomfortable, regulation chair and pulled out a worn quill.

"Now, Harry. Don't you think you are taking things a bit too personally?"

"Personally! We almost had him! Technicality my ass—corruption is more like it. I am sick of the red tape and the stupidity of the Ministry. Sure, Voldemort may be gone, but the Death Eaters are not. Scrimgeour is acting as blind as Fudge used to. Someone else has got to be organizing them; these are not random strikes. Why don't they acknowledge that?"

"Harry, you already took out one Dark Lord, why are you searching so hard for another?" The moment those words left Kingsley's lips, Harry saw red, ignoring the suddenly apprehensive look on his friend's face.

"What? Buying into that _Prophet_ dribble? Merlin, what is it with you people?" Harry started angrily scrawling over the parchment. "These attacks are too organized. They are planned assaults on Order members. They are planned assaults on Muggle-borns and their families. I cannot see why _you_ don't recognize the problem."

"We're not saying there isn't a problem. You know very well we're working on it. But you have done enough, Harry. The weight of the world isn't on your shoulders anymore. There is no more prophecy for you to fulfil. Let the team work on it, under the proper authority."

Harry looked at him like he'd just confessed he wanted to dye his eyebrows pink, wear a tutu and join the circus.

"Proper authority? Kingsley, you are an Order member—don't you even care?"

Fire flashed in Kingsley's eyes. "Harry, of course I care! But we are not at war anymore! Don't you see the difference? You cannot take down every Death Eater single handedly. You have to work with other people and within the bounds of the law. These people deserve trials!"

Slightly admonished, Harry 'harrumphed,' but continued to scribble away on his resignation.

"I just don't think this is the right place for me anymore, Kingsley."

"Well, what will you do?"

The quill stopped scratching. Harry glanced at his friend and boss, green eyes clearer than they had been in a long time. "I have no idea." Then he returned to writing out the end of his Auror career.

* * *

Harry Apparated to his London flat as a free man. Or he tried to convince himself that. He had resigned in a pique of disgruntled anger and now he was questioning his decision, but there was no way he was going to go crawling back to Kingsley or anyone else in the Auror Program. 

He threw his red robes onto the back of his overstuffed chair and flopped down on the nearby couch. Absentmindedly, he wordlessly started the fire and summoned a Witch's Brew stout from the kitchen. Sipping the cold beer, he lay back on the couch wondering exactly what he should do now. He knew that something was going on; someone was organizing the remaining Death Eaters that survived the final assault. All the offenders they'd captured so far were the usual suspects, the old guard from Voldemort's day. Mainly toadies, individuals acquitted during their trials for lack of substantial evidence or those who had eluded the Aurors thus far.

And perhaps this new leader was even recruiting more.

Harry laughed bitterly at himself, unconsciously rubbing the twin scars on his forehead. After the fall of Voldemort he'd developed rose-tinted expectations for a quiet life of stopping less maniacal bad guys and maybe finding a little peace. Everything would be _normal_ after Voldemort was gone. But nothing could ever really be normal for the Boy Who Lived, even if his nemesis was no longer in the picture. Everybody expected perfection, a winning smile, and bright optimism. They wanted him to solve their problems. Well everybody but the Ministry, who wanted to keep him on a short leash and on the roster for good publicity.

Harry hated being used.

Now drinking and relaxing he could do nothing but run through all of the events he had been uncovering. There was a pattern there, he was certain of it. It was more firmly rooted in his gut than anything he'd thought out consciously; that was Hermione's forte, not his own. He gulped down the last of the stout and went to his dining table covered in papers. He praised his foresight to copy everything on the case and keep a set at home.

_Ron should be here_, he thought to himself, missing his friend. They attended Auror training together and were never closer. Hermione had opted for University, studying Arithmancy and spell development, inventing new defence and incarceration spells for Aurors everywhere. She was excellent at it, graduating top of her class with honours, and eventually worked for the Ministry's research department, though she didn't have to deal with the crap he had to. At least she didn't complain about it to him if she did.

Ron was off on the Yucatan Peninsula. The Ministry had sent him there to track down a Central American Dark Artefact peddler. It was a worthy assignment, but they had taken him off the Death Eater case with Harry, and Harry needed him here. Not to mention it put a rift in the renewed relationship between Ron and Hermione. They had put everything off while she attended University, though they were all still close, meeting regularly at The Lion's Mane in the wizarding section of Cambridge. But once she started working for the Ministry you couldn't keep those two apart, circling each other as if caught in a gravity well. Harry was glad for his friends; someone deserved happiness.

Well, if Ron couldn't help him, he knew Hermione could and he didn't want to wallow in misery alone anyway. His options were slim, but he didn't care. Quality over quantity, he reminded himself. He hadn't made any new friends out of school; everyone saw his fame instead of just him, wanting to be close to the Boy Hero.

He rose from the couch and moved to stand before the fireplace. Tossing in some Floo Powder the green flames flared.

"Hermione Granger, London."

He poked his head into the fire and called. "Hermione, are you there?" He waited for a few moments and upon hearing no reply he walked through.

"Hermione?"

He walked around the apartment, sticking his head into each room, not wanting to be too obtrusive without her permission. "You here?"

Nobody was there. Searching through the neat piles of papers on her desk full of diagrams and charts that made little sense to him, he found a blank sheet and scribbled a quick note to her and returned home.

Opening another beer he started flipping through his research again. Case files, photos of murder victims and crime scenes, dossiers on suspects. It was a gruesome testament to his life's work.

* * *

_Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock_

In a way the sound had always been soothing, but tonight it was driving him insane: the constant ticking of the clock, announcing the passage of time, showing how everything was leaving him behind. Alone. To rot.

Remus Lupin had settled into one of the deepest depressions he had been in in a very long time.

Tomorrow would be the four-year anniversary of the second and final demise of Voldemort. Everyone in Diagon Alley and the British wizarding world would be celebrating this night. Everybody but Remus. It was also the anniversary of the death of Tonks.

As he pickled himself with cheap sherry and morose thoughts of lost love, he reviewed the sad state of his life. He worked at a second rate bookstore in Diagon Alley. It paid the bills but not much else. While he was one of the lauded Order members who had aided in the final destruction of Voldemort, he was still a registered werewolf and few people wanted to associate with such a wild card. He lived in a rat infested hovel in South London, it was all he could afford, and without Snape to make the Wolfsbane Potion, he went through terrible transformations alone every month in the dark dungeon of a deserted castle in northern Scotland.

He hated his life.

But the biggest thing he mourned, not his crappy job or the unsanitary state of his home, was the people he cared about. The first woman he ever loved had been killed in the final battle; she bled to death as he held her, wailing at the unfairness of the world as he tried desperately to staunch the blood flow with spell after spell. It hadn't been enough. He lost Sirius twice, Dumbledore was killed by Snape, James killed so long ago, and Peter, sweet Peter turned on them all. He only had Harry left, and Harry had grown distant in his constant struggle against the darkness. Remus worried about him, but Harry was so obsessed with his work that they didn't speak much lately.

Remus _really_ hated his life.

He downed the glass and poured himself another. Technically he was on the clock, but nobody came into the shithole bookstore he worked at. He might as well close up the shop and go home, wallow some more about his sad state of affairs, but he didn't. He still had a twisted sense of honour and he wouldn't disappoint his employer. Well not totally, anyway.

So he continued to get totally sloshed and three hours later closed the store at the appointed time. He was in no shape to Apparate, so he decided to walk to The Leaky Cauldron to Floo home. With only a slight stumble to his steps, clutching his tattered cloak close to his gaunt frame, he walked through the soggy streets of the Alley. Most of the streets were overrun with revelers, celebrating freedom and the end of a time of terror, even in the inclement weather.

Remus scoffed at them. None of these people had paid as dearly as he. These were the people who sat by whinging at the world, begging for someone to end the war, defeat the Dark Lord, save them all. These people sacrificed nothing but still had everything.

He had got quite bitter in the passing years.

"Hey, watch it!" Someone yelled at him as he stepped on a foot. He just grumbled under his breath and kept walking, trying to avoid the masses of people, which was a hopeless goal. Eventually he opted for a less travelled smaller alley to escape the throng of celebrants. With his eyes kept down and his steps quick, he made his way to the bustling pub.

But as a snippet of conversation reached his ear, he quickly pulled himself to a stop. He swore he heard the name Potter. With the experience of a hardened soldier, he focused his will, pulled himself together. Slipping into a shop doorway, he tried to eavesdrop as best as he could.

"So, you're certain he quit?" The voice was highlighted with a French accent, nothing too thick. It spewed out, hurried and snivelling, the voice of a minion if Remus ever heard one.

"Quite." This younger voice was far cooler, collected.

"And that bitch?"

"Taken care of."

"He will be pleased. You have done well."

"Yes, I know, I don't need to hear it from you." The voice dripped with disdain.

"Your next assignment."

The two men were quiet for a moment and the other finally said. "Consider it done." Eager anticipation tinted his words.

"Good. Until next time."

There was no reply for a long moment and finally Remus poked his head around the corner to look down the street, but nobody looked suspicious, there were no men huddled discussing dark plans, just people walking down the street, raising glasses or singing songs hopelessly off tune.

This couldn't be good.

* * *

Finally, Harry'd passed out on his couch; a few extra empty bottles sat together with that first he started hours ago. He never found answers in alcohol, but it always seemed to push away the need to decide for the time being. 

He quit the Auror Program. He was ungainfully unemployed. He wasn't really worried about money; he had quite a pile of it from his parents and his godfather. Between the Potter and Black fortunes and his lack of a spending habit, he didn't really even need a job. But he did want to do something. He would still work for the Order and perhaps that would be enough for now. Maybe he would become a Hit Wizard. Maybe he would invest in a cauldron shop. Or maybe…

A loud, slightly slurred call woke him up from his unpleasant dreams.

"Harry, wake up!"

Even through his thick haze of alcohol and sleep, Harry recognized the rough voice of his old friend. "Remus? Come through… What's wrong?"

Remus practically fell through the fireplace and landed on the rug in an unhappy heap, wet robes dripping on the floor.

"You're drunk," Harry noted. He hadn't been spending much time with Remus, but he did worry about him. The man who used to be always in control drank too much and he seemed to be living a half life, walking through it like a zombie. Nothing like the mentor he was to him years ago.

Remus eyed the beer bottles littering the end table. "I doubt I'm the only one."

Harry shrugged and sat up.

"How ya been Remus? I haven't seen you in a while."

"No, you haven't." It almost sounded like an accusation as the older man stood, brushing the soot off his worn, damp robes.

Harry looked at him, lassitude etched in every feature of his face. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. Been busy lately." He sighed the sigh of the weary.

"Anything new with you?" Remus hung his robe up by the door and sat down on the chair, deep eyes assessing Harry. He always was an observant one, even when three sheets to the wind. "Still with that Muggle, what was his name… Roger?"

"No… it wouldn't work out… I quit."

"Quit what? The dating scene?"

"Well, yeah, pretty much. But… I quit the Auror Program."

"Really?" Remus didn't seem surprised. "Why?"

"I couldn't get anything done and they won't acknowledge that the Death Eaters are rallying again. Scrimgeour seems to be taking a page from Fudge's 'How to Be a Useless Minister' handbook. It was pissing me off, so I told Kingsley off and quit." He leaned forward, running his hands through his messy hair. "I'm not sure it was the best idea."

"I'll make some coffee."

"Yeah, thanks."

Remus rose and entered the kitchen, moving plates and cups caked with who knew what to clear off some counter space. "Haven't been home much?" he asked his friend.

"Ah no, sorry for the state of my kitchen. Like I said, been busy." He reclined back in the couch as Remus busied himself with making coffee. Soon he returned with two steaming cups.

"Thanks," Harry said as he took a deep drink from the cup. "I needed that."

"So, what happened?"

Harry went into the events leading up to his resignation with quick, sure clarity. Remus listened to the Death Eater problem, though he already knew some of Harry's assumptions from previous conversations. Harry told him how he was being thwarted in what he considered the most effective way to hunt down and bring in the men behind the latest attacks and how, just like back in school, the Ministry was ignoring everything and even hiding from the public the fact that the attacks even happened. The cover up was all done in the name of keeping the people calm and giving them something to believe in, to hold on to.

"I think someone in the Ministry isn't on our side." He finally surmised. "I can't believe in such incompetence. Someone's pulling the strings and I've no idea who it is."

"Well, I have some information you might be interested in… it was actually the reason I stopped by tonight."

"What? Not for my gracious hospitality?" Harry smirked at the sorry state of his apartment.

Remus laughed, "Um, no, but thanks again for the coffee."

Harry grinned and lifted his chin in acknowledgement. "So, what do you got?"

"I overheard some people talking about you in Diagon Alley, one of the side streets. The place was packed with people and I only overheard a part of the conversation, but it didn't sound good. They were aware you quit and they had dealt with some woman, didn't sound good for her. The one who was supplying the information was given a new assignment. When I tried to see who was talking, they were gone."

"They were interested that I quit, huh. Hmm..." He mulled over this new information and the bright green flames of his fireplace flared up again.

"Potter, you there?" It was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Harry sighed, looking over at Remus as he went to the fireplace.

"Yeah, Kingsley. It's late."

"Yep, but I know you'll want to know this. Can you get to a club in London called Rain as soon as possible?"

"Sure. But Kingsley… I really did resign."

"I know, Potter. But this… you'll want to know this."

"Okay, I'll be right there."

The flames died and Harry went to put on his robes. He lifted the red Auror robes and stopped, realizing he gave that up, and returned to pull on his own darker set.

"Harry."

"What, Remus?"

"You might want to know something… Rain is Draco Malfoy's wizarding club."

"What? How do you know? I thought he ran away to France after the trials were over." Harry's words were edged with steel. He had little love for any Malfoys.

"Well, I still keep my ears to the ground and I still have a few contacts filtering me interesting pieces of information. Want me to come?"

"Sure. You good to Apparate?"

"Yeah," he said, taking one last swig of coffee.

The two men vanished.

* * *

A fine fog had settled over this part of London. The alley was spotted with a few people; those adorned with the red robes of the Auror, some onlookers, and finely dressed men in Muggle clothing. As Harry and Remus walked up the street, everything became clearer, the fog thinned. Malfoy stood off to the side with some henchman of his talking with Ted Riley, an Auror with a buzz cut that Harry didn't know that well. Kingsley and some other Aurors that Harry knew were surrounding a prone body. 

"Hey, Potter," a few of the men and women called out to him as he walked up. They didn't sound happy.

"What's up?" He asked as Kingsley strode towards him.

Kingsley sighed, "Harry, I just wanted you to be here, since she's your friend."

"What? What are you talking about?" He pushed his way over to the body and looked down. What he saw clutched at this heart, threatening to still it forever. The woman's chest still rose and fell, so she wasn't dead, but her eyes were glassy, empty.

The eyes of his best friend, Hermione Granger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**  
_"She couldn't scream while I held her close."  
__The Killers – Jenny_

Dazed and numb, Harry stumbled back from his friend's side and turned towards the cluster of men by the receiving bay. "You bastard Malfoy, what did you do to Hermione?" Harry screamed furiously as he marched over to Draco, fisting the front of the blond's stylish jacket and slamming his slighter form against the dirty stone walls of the building. Ted Riley grabbed Harry's shoulders, tugging uselessly on his body. Turbulent winds tossed Harry's shaggy hair, his green eyes glowing as a hidden surge of wrath searched for release. Draco cocked an elegant eyebrow at him, not struggling against Harry all.

"Harry, back off!" It was Kingsley's voice that finally cut its way through the flash of rage consuming Harry. The brief squall died down and he was pulled off by the Auror. Everyone looked around nervously at the odd weather; Riley eyed Harry with concern. "It was Malfoy who called it in." Kingsley said.

"Yes Potter, do keep your hands off me," Draco drawled, casually dusting off the front of his jacket. It was the trademark sneer that sent Harry over the edge again.

"Fucking Malfoy, if I find out you had _anything_ to do with this you will wish your grandfather had been castrated at birth. I swear you _will_ pay." He turned away from his nemesis, a mix of panic and protective anger battling within him. His eyes searched out the prone form and there she was. His best friend, lying haphazardly in the filthy alley, glassy eyed with no evidence of physical injury. Her skirt rested slightly askew and her hair was a wild bush, so unlike her new, tidy style. She looked feral.

He knelt beside her, picking up her chilled hand, feeling for a pulse. It was there, weak, but a testament to her life.

A gentle touch rested on his shoulder, causing Harry to jerk at the intrusion.

"Harry," Remus said softly, "Mediwizards are on their way. The Aurors say she's been cursed but they aren't sure what it is." Remus casually sniffed the air, taking in olfactory clues that only he could decipher.

"Who?"

"They're looking into that. Right now they don't know."

"I bet I know…"

"Harry, there's no proof. You can't just attack Draco Malfoy like that. Let the Aurors do their job. Anyway, I smell more people… But it's all so jumbled now. Spicy and sweet, almost like cinnamon and chocolate…" He continued to breathe in the air.

"He's a fucking Death Eater, Remus. Like we can trust him," Harry growled, his eyes still plastered on Hermione. He tugged her skirt down over her thigh, a gesture to offer modesty, and smoothed down her hair, tucking an errant strand behind her ear.

He stood, seeking out Kingsley Shacklebolt and with unerring purpose strode over to his ex-boss.

"Kingsley…"

The older man held up his hand as Harry prepared his barrage. "Harry, I promise to keep you informed. But even if you were still an Auror, I wouldn't have you on this case, you're too close. Go home. She's being sent to St. Mungo's, you can check on her there."

"I'm not leaving."

"Fine, stay if you want, but leave Malfoy alone." Harry glanced over at the haughty blond, who continued to talk with Ted Riley and some other Aurors, flanked by a large, black man. "Do you hear me, Harry? Don't mess with him." Kingsley's tone allowed for no argument.

"Okay, Fine. I won't touch the Death Eater. Don't worry."

"Somehow, I am not relieved. Remember, he was acquitted by the Wizengamot. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" The incredulous look on Harry's face offered no assurance. "Remus, can you keep him in line?"

Remus exhaled wearily. "I will try to keep him out of trouble…" He didn't sound convinced of his own ability. "But I won't stop him looking into this attack Kingsley; you know any of us would jump to protect Hermione."

"I know, I know… just… Use common sense. I know _you_ must still have some of that."

Remus stared hard at Kingsley. Harry realised even tried and true Remus had his limits. "Yeah, Kingsley, don't worry." He mirrored Harry's own hollow words.

The healers from St. Mungo's, adorned in their lime green robes, arrived and took Hermione away. Harry and Remus Apparated to the hospital and waited until the sun rose, pacing a hole in the tile floors. Finally, Mediwitch Periwinkle came out to talk to them.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin." She nodded at them, recognition in her eyes as they darted to Harry's forehead, searching out the dual scars crossed in a tilted X. How he hated that. "Miss Granger is suffering from several unknown curses and we have our best medical curse breakers working on it. She is not in poor physical health; the spells appear to have affected her mind and magic only. We know that Miss Granger works in the Spell Development sector of the Ministry. If an experimental spell is affecting her it might interfere with her recovery. Do you know if anything like that might be involved, an accident at work maybe?"

Harry shook his head. "We weren't there when it happened. I don't know what could be affecting her." Anyway, why would she be in an alley, Malfoy's alley, when affected by this spell? Harry didn't think this had anything to do with a mishap at the Department. The whole thing set up alarm bells.

The woman jotted some notes down on her clipboard and then smiled at him. "Well, we will contact you if there are any changes."

"Can we see her?" came Harry's plaintive plea.

"Certainly. She is in room 421, fourth floor."

It was a private room, surrounded by white walls, white curtains, white tile floor. It was institutional and the medical smell of potions and salves saturated every fabric in the place. It made Harry itch.

Hermione was lying under a light blue blanket, all clean and dressed in a white, hospital smock. Her breathing was shallow; her shut eyes cloistering the deadness hidden beneath. But she wasn't dead, even if his last memory was of her eyes, flat and dull.

The two men settled themselves in chairs around her bed. Snaking his hand out, Harry lightly stroked her fingers. "She's still in there, Remus."

Remus glanced up at Harry, curious. Ever since the destruction of the sixth Horcrux, Harry had developed odd abilities, shown signs of a hidden depth of power.

"What do you mean?"

"I can feel her power, it's still there, locked away. Tightly locked away, behind some wall... Her magic is still in her." A single tear traced down his smooth cheek.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione were inseparable during their seventh year. Hogwarts remained open, though the meagre population, pared down due to the prevalent fear of an attack on the school, made for interesting classes. The three attended what lessons they could, all mixed Houses, but most of their seventh year of school encompassed searching for the Horcruxes and preparing for war. Extra curricular lessons, both magical and physical, were provided by various Order members. They learned unarmed and armed fighting techniques, and their duelling skills eventually matched those of the highest Order duellists.

Harry took up the yoke and ploughed through every trial he came to, not wanting to lose anybody else. The loss of Dumbledore, not to mention Sirius and Cedric, always waited in the dark corners of his mind. The prophecy called for him to face Voldemort, no other could perform this act. No one else need stand before that danger.

He would have gone alone, abandoned Ron and Hermione like he did Ginny, but they would not be cast off, eager to confront this onerous ordeal by his side. Ginny was invaluable help though, assisting with classwork and preparations for tests, working with the teachers to have study guides ready for them, learning the skills so she could eventually pass on those lessons. There was no surprise when she graduated top student in her final year.

However, the Golden Trio would not be separated. His friends would not let him fight this war alone. Fortunately, Harry eventually realised he needed their help, their companionship, and finally quit arguing about it.

It seemed they each developed and honed a certain knack in their endless quest. Hermione obviously became the research expert, combing through piles of books, scrolls and papers, some of them utterly ancient. She discovered location after location, all potential cradles for the fragments of Voldemort's soul. Ron kept them all in good spirits and on task. He prepared all of their equipment for their outings and cast ahead to each location for any Order members or contacts they could establish. Harry just went by gut instinct and blind luck. He figured he should stick with his strengths.

The first Horcrux they found was the Hufflepuff cup. Hidden away in Godric's Hollow, in a deep well behind the burnt out husk of Harry's parent's final stand.

The second was the locket, stolen from the cave by Regulus Black, cloistered away at 12 Grimmauld Place, pocketed by Mundungus and eventually tracked down to a seedy shop in Knockturn Alley. It took them three months to search for and eventually destroy the heavy pendent.

Nagini was the third Horcrux they destroyed, with a total of five of the six accounted for. Using Parseltongue, Harry enticed her away from Voldemort. It was their most dangerous mission yet, as Nagini rarely strayed far from her Lord and master. Feeding the giant snake a poisoned cat did not prove difficult, but while she thrashed in throes of pain they worried the poisoning might fail. They resorted to hacking at her body with the keen blades they were never without; the constant worry that Voldemort would find them nagging at their nerves. Ron suffered a broken arm from the snake's convulsions, but it was a small price to destroy the fifth Horcrux.

Voldemort finally became aware of what they had been up to and an entire village was destroyed in retaliation

He unleashed his fury, invigorated by an unstable psyche, and the death tolls skyrocketed in response to the Trio's actions. More than ever they acknowledged the need to move quickly or more of their friends might end up dead, not to mention countless innocents.

The sixth had eluded them for months. Dumbledore had left them with the hint that it might be in a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor relic. They researched everything they could about the two Founders and what other legacies they might have left behind. Ron wondered if it could be the Sorting Hat, since it was once Godric Gryffindor's, but every bit of research they did on the hat revealed nothing. The true hint came when Harry finally placed the Sorting Hat on his head. It actually sang a song for him.

_Godric pulled me off his head  
__No wicked soul will I ever hold  
__That precious fragment has found a bed  
__In the son of red and gold_

_Protected by a mother's love  
__And many allies wrought  
__Anointing mark an equal makes  
__Within this badge the soul is caught._

"Your scar, Harry. That is the sixth Horcrux!" Hermione pointed out.

They all felt helpless; how could they destroy this Horcrux?

* * *

The school year was nearing an end and the students who remained at Hogwarts were studying diligently for their upcoming NEWTs and harassing their professors for any last minute study aids. Harry, Ron and Hermione chose not to take them this year, just trying to pass their classes as best they could with their hectic search for the Horcruxes. It proved a difficult decision for Hermione to make.

After the realization that Harry's scar held a portion of Voldemort's soul, they decided to go to the Potions Master in hope that he might be able to shed more light on this grim circumstance.

"Professor Slughorn?" The three Gryffindors approached their professor after a potions class they actually had time to attend. "Um, can we speak to you? Privately?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I will be retiring to my office, Miss Brocklehurst and Mr. Hopkins. I shall return in due time." He bid goodbye to two of his students, who had stayed after class to perfect the Draught of Peace, a potion currently in high demand.

The three followed Professor Slughorn to his office. As he held the door open for them he said, "Come in, come in. How are the searches going?" As one of the elder professors at Hogwarts, he was informed along with McGonagall about all of their travels, research and success, offering what aid he could.

"We think we figured out the final Horcrux, sir. And well, we are not sure what to do with it." Harry sounded despondent as he rubbed at his scar.

"Well Harry, do tell. Don't keep me in suspense."

"My scar?" It came out a question.

"Your scar? Well that is... ahem… unique." Professor Slughorn blinked his large eyes. "Why would he do such a thing?" He pondered.

"Well sir, I think it was inadvertent. Perhaps the fact that the Killing Curse rebounded off Harry, destroying Voldemort's corporeal body, caused this final sliver of soul to be chiselled off and the Horcrux to be created. If you remember sir, other things were transferred to Harry because of the failed curse, such as his ability to speak Parseltongue and his connection to Voldemort's thoughts," Hermione said. "There really isn't that much information on Horcruxes that I've been able to obtain, so this is only speculation. But while we've destroyed the other five, difficult as that was," she glanced at her friends who nodded in reply, "we are at a loss as to how to destroy this Horcrux. I don't think Harry has to die, but I'm not sure what other options there are."

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed.

The older man grew grave and nodded as if to himself. He rose from his overstuffed chair and crossed the room to a very neat bookcase. Pulling on a book caused a small 'click' and a hidden compartment was revealed behind the moved volume.

"I recently came into possession of this." He removed a thin, faded book and handed it to Harry. "It might be just what you need." Professor Slughorn glanced away as if he was loath to look at the thing.

Harry gently turned the book over in his hands. The leather cover was flaking and all writing had faded, no title being legible. He turned over the cover and flipped a few pages cautiously, letting his eyes settle on one.

"This book is about Horcruxes and other Dark Magic!"

"Hey Professor, why didn't you give this to us sooner?" Ron interjected; his voice trying for congenial, but not quite hitting the mark as he glowered at the man.

"Oh, now you see, it just came into my possession. I have quite a few friends who are looking for such items for me. It is bad for my reputation you must understand, but luckily one of my more discreet fellows found me that. I just received it yesterday. It's yours. Please, just take it away." The man fidgeted with anxiety.

Hermione grabbed it and stuffed it in her bag. "Thank you, Professor." She turned and walked out of the room, quickly followed by Harry.

"Hermione! Wait." Ron yelled, turning to glare back at their Professor as if he had more to say to the man.

"Ron, we don't have time."

* * *

Hermione really was the brightest witch of her age and with the help of the book and some further information from Professor Slughorn, a long and complicated ritual was prepared that would destroy the Horcrux residing within Harry's scar without, hopefully, destroying Harry.

It all centred around the Kielen Dagger. A weapon deadly to spiritual remnants, usually wielded by ghost hunters.

There were only three known to have been created, because to be honest there were easier ways to deal with pernicious ghosts. None of the knives were readily available, so Hermione and Professor Slughorn had to create one from scratch. They even pulled in Bill, Ron's older brother, to help with some of the finer charms and curses.

It truly had to be created from its base materials, using specially prepared iron melted in a properly cursed cauldron, then mixing the melted ore with gold, Slorch Scum and Dragon Bile to attain the proper alloy. Once the mixture was molten it was poured into a mould to cool and then pounded and reheated and pounded and reheated. This was where Bill provided further aid, toned from his recent expeditions. The Kielen Dagger took two weeks to forge, and then they were finally ready for the ritual.

It wouldn't be good for Harry. As Bill, Professor Slughorn and Hermione were busy with the dagger, Harry and Ron were preparing an empty dungeon room for the ritual. After they had finished, it looked like a medieval torture chamber, complete with chains attached to the bare floor meant to secure Harry as they cut into his scar with the dagger. A large pentagram and protection circle were drawn on the floor using a mixture of salt, coltsfoot and Harry's own blood to contain the huge energy release that they expected with the destruction of the Horcrux. The blood stained circle was then burned with chameleon fire, charred into the stone floor, leaving an acrid odour hanging in the air.

As he prepared for the ritual, one which survival was not guaranteed, Harry mulled over his secrets and deepest desires, dwelled on his losses and cherished the happy moments: truly happy moments which were far too few for someone with such a willing heart. But even as he tried to focus on the good things, his flight on Buckbeak, meeting Sirius for the first time, beating Malfoy at Quidditch, his first kiss with Ginny, his mind kept returning to those losses, of missed chances and dead friends. He wished Dumbledore was here to help them. He wished for Sirius to be standing by his side. He wished he could only remember one loving kiss from his mother, instead of her dying screams. None of his wishes seemed to ever come true; his wasn't a life of "happily ever after" after all.

Then the time was upon them. A final layer of protective charms was laced over Harry in hopes of preserving him from the majority of the upsurge he would be trapped at the centre of.

They all hoped he would survive.

Hermione felt his chances were good.

* * *

"Harry, come here." Hermione stood within the circle, one leather manacle in her hand, chains at her feet, a slight cock to one hip giving her the guise of a cruel dominatrix.

"Hermione, quit looking at me like that," Harry whimpered, lying down at her feet like a virgin sacrifice as she strapped him to the floor at the centre of the ritual space. Eyes shut tight and breath coming in quick sips, his nervous energy had everyone on edge.

"Calm down, mate. I know this will be living hell and all, but let's just get it over with." Ron offered a weak pat, for once lacking his good natured optimism. With a fit of jitters, he rose and lit the pillar candles stationed at each point of the pentacle, offering more light to the dreary cell.

"Merlin's balls, I can't do this." Harry began to struggle against his restraints, thrashing in panic.

"Harry. Harry, calm down." Hermione laid a warm hand on his clammy forehead. "Now, who do you want to do it? Ron or me?" Ron groaned in despair.

"You better do it Hermione; I think Ron might have an aneurism." The light joking eased his anxiety at the upcoming potential lobotomy.

"Fine." She was matter-of-fact, wrapping herself in the armour of cold logic, just trying to get the job done. "Out Ron."

Casting backwards glances, Ron slunk from the room, slowly clicking the door shut and joining his brother and Professor Slughorn outside the makeshift ritual chamber.

* * *

"How's it going?" Bill asked, adding more protective spells around the door, silvery filaments pulling out of his wand, wrapping around the door and frame, just in case it didn't go quite as planned.

"Well, Harry's doing as good as can be expected, going under the knife and all that." Ron's voice was small, only hinting at the immense worry he felt about this ritual and how his friends might fair. A sense of guilt ate away at his courage as he waited outside.

* * *

Locked away within the room Hermione cast more protective charms and shields all over her. Layer after layer of advanced magic gave her a crystalline glow, coating her in an almost angelic aura: a feminine Archangel Michael brandishing her cruel blade. Glinting Kielen Dagger in one hand, wand in the other, she leaned over Harry. "Ready?"

A feeling not unlike blind terror wormed its way into Harry's veins, chilling them to ice, and he pulled the chains tight, straining and stiffening in anticipation of the first cut. He could hear Hermione's shallow breathing, betraying her own apprehension and he momentarily felt wrong forcing her to cut into his scar. She shouldn't have to face such horrors.

Failing to swallow past the fear lodged in his throat in an attempt to wet his dry tongue, he opted for a nod instead.

"Alright." She lifted the knife; his last view before he screwed his eyes shut, the dim light reflected off its metal surface.

The Cruciatus Curse had nothing on this. As Hermione pressed the Kielen Dagger to his scar and cut through, carving into the thin layer where skin met bone, the explosion of pain pulsed through every nerve ending in the boy. An agonizing twitch in his forehead, like a nest of maggots digging into his brain, caused his stomach to flip, his nerves to cry in protest. He strained against the chains as he ripped the lining from his throat in scream after scream as Hermione continued to saw away at his forehead, cutting through the thin aegis of the soul fragment.

The imbedded shard of Voldemort's soul attempted to fight back.

Eventually for Harry, before his incoherent prayers for death were answered, the world faded away.

When he finally came to, even with the pounding of a 10 tonne sledge hammer attacking his temples and warm liquid trickling down his face into his eyes, he felt lighter. He almost laughed he felt so free.

"Hermione?" The room was quiet. Deathly quiet.

"Hermione!" Panic laced his words as he struggled against the leather and metal restraints, arms locked tight in the unforgiving manacles.

"Nagn," came a weak mumble from his right.

"You okay?"

"Ugn," she replied. With a slow crawl Hermione finally appeared in his red-tinted view. "You?" Finally forming a coherent word.

"Head hurts like hell… But yeah, I think I'm okay."

With a few concise flicks of her wand the manacles were released and the door opened.

* * *

"Harry! Hermione! How did it go?" Ron ran through the door and stopped short at the sight before him.

The room was splattered in red. Hermione, crouching next to Harry, was painted in burgundy, hair a halo of unfettered chaos, looking like a wild Amazon moving in for her kill. Harry's entire face was covered in the same, more blood than could have come out of just the gash across his head. A flap of skin dangled from Harry's scalp and a smile with a hint of insanity crazily perched on his lips.

"Great!" Harry called. "It went great!"

"Huh?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"I don't know, I mean I hurt like hell, but I feel so… released? Free. Light almost, like I was wearing soggy robes all day and finally got a chance to take 'em off." Harry looked over at Hermione with the same insanity in his smile and then his jaw dropped.

This caused Ron to look closer, to see beyond the blood splattered over every inch of his friend and he finally noticed her left hand, the one that had held the knife. It was black and twisted, just like Dumbledore's last year. She held it to her chest, cradling the burnt claw.

"Merlin, Hermione, your hand!" Ron ran over to her, sliding on his knees the last few feet. She flinched as he drew close, but let him gently take her misshapen hand into his own. "Wow." The Kielen Dagger lay beside her on the ground.

"The Horcrux released an impressive amount of magical energy, more so than the others… I couldn't let the knife go until I was sure it was destroyed." Pain wracked her voice. "I suppose I should be happy the rest of me didn't suffer the same fate."

Professor Slughorn and Bill stood by the entrance, watching the students, children no more. "Come on guys," Bill said. "Let's get you to the Hospital Wing."

* * *

Hermione's hand did get better, but it took time. She suffered quite a bit of pain, but stoically kept on, fulfiling her part in the preparations for the final assault on Voldemort. Harry, though, came out of the experience with a new scar and full access to all of his immense power. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**  
_"Tell me your secrets. Ask me your questions."  
__Cold Play – The Scientist_

His sturdy form was sprawled half across her legs, half in his chair, as he snored lightly, worn down from his endless vigil. Harry and Remus had taken turns, been by her side for days, just in case the mediwizards and witches had discovered something, anything, or Hermione's sheer perseverance shrugged off the unknown curse. Since Remus was still attempting to hold down a job, it fell to Harry to spend most of his time in the hospital room. The wait proved fruitless.

The cute, young mediwitch came in, startling him from his nap, eyes only darting in habit to his scars instead of lingering there like they had when she first realised who her patient's guest was. She didn't bother delivering her flirty smiles and engaging wit anymore after the few short words he'd exchanged with her. She knew a lost cause.

After Ginny it hadn't taken him long to realise he really wasn't that interested in women. That for the young redhead it was her fire and self-assurance he had been attracted to more than anything else. Ginny and his friends were shocked by Harry's confession to being gay, but they accepted this about him as they did everything else. Not that he'd had much time for romance during those years back in school with Horcruxes to find and a Dark Lord to destroy.

Only yesterday, on one of Harry's many leg-stretching laps of the hospital, a young man glanced at him, immediate interest sparkling in his eyes as they crawled up and down Harry's toned body. Harry flushed, rose colour climbing from his collar up to his hairline, doing nothing to the double scars on his forehead which stood out like an ashen brand. He let his own gaze return the casual invitation and then immediately felt guilty. He shouldn't be picking up men while Hermione was comatose from a Dark Curse.

He had no time for a one night stand let alone romance.

He easily turned away without regret, returning to Hermione's room. He wasn't going to find love in a hospital waiting room and casual sex really wasn't his thing.

They had contacted Ron immediately, of course. He'd Flooed in from Mexico, petting Hermione's hair with worry in one moment and in the next boiling with righteous anger about how nobody on this end was doing anything about it. Harry withstood three hours of Ron's berating words for quitting the Auror Program and when he finally burned himself out, they sat in sorrowful silence together. But since Ron was knee deep in his mission and he knew there was nothing he could do, he was forced to return to work and Harry returned to useless pacing and avoiding attractive young men and curious medical staff.

Mediwitch Periwinkle busied herself with diagnostic spells and finally left him alone with his best friend again. Harry gazed at Hermione, her skin pale and thin, the vibrant life faded away. He slowly traced his fingertips along the back of her hand, mind searching, seeking for anything he knew about curses. Being neither a curse breaker nor a healer, Harry realised he had wasted far too much valuable time waiting in the hospital room and pacing the halls. He was loathe to leave Hermione's bedside but knew his strength was in getting out there and tackling the problem, searching for leads, not in his beside manner. So kissing Hermione lightly on her forehead, he Flooed to her place, fed the neglected Crookshanks, and lost no time in ransacking her apartment, his mind scolding him for his maudlin waste. There had to be something here, some clue about _why_ Hermione might have been a target, and even if there wasn't, at least this kept him busy.

Hermione always was a well organized person. It did not take Harry much time to find her files and lay them out on her large kitchen table, pushed up against the side of a brightly painted wall below a rather obscure painting full of geometric designs, grids and half faded phrases, far too abstract for Harry's own tastes. After brewing a pot of coffee and toasting himself a cheese sandwich from Hermione's mix of Muggle and wizarding appliances, he settled down to find that one piece of information that would make the entire jigsaw fall into place.

After a full night attempting to categorize the piles of parchment and paper, filing, organizing and attempting to decipher Hermione's short hand—neither an easy nor enjoyable task, Harry knew he could not tackle this project without help. He had jumped into the job with such enthusiasm, finding a worthy hole to dump his vast energy into, positively sure there would be something immediately helpful and gratifying to be discovered in Hermione's notes, but his hope and energy were again wasted.

He wasn't having a good track record.

He couldn't do this alone.

Tucking some of the more promising notes into his robes, he Flooed to Blumgeower Books to meet with Remus.

For once sober, Remus was helping a customer, so Harry quietly waited, wandering through the isles of the decrepit, depressing store. Standing almost to the ceiling the bookshelves were heavily bowed and rotting in some sections, victims of termites and he was sure some wood eating relative of the glumbumble. The books, covered in layers of dust, didn't look like they had been read in ages, let alone moved or even dusted, and as Harry perused the titles, _Sam Marmy's Guide to Cooking with Cheese_,_ Basic Fire Spells to Wow Your Neighbours_, and _The History of Muggle Gambling_, he could see why.

But as he explored further back he did notice a few titles of interest, _Tactics of Shield Casting_ and _Natural Antidotes to Poisons and Diseases_, and he grudgingly acknowledged that this craphole did hold a few treasures. He picked up a small leather bound pamphlet on charmed potions and flipped through it, deciding to buy it for Hermione as a 'You Made It' gift once she was cured.

"Harry, free and clear," Remus called. Harry made his way back to the front of the store.

"Remus, how're you with Arithmancy?" He placed the book, and a few others he picked up, down on the counter and Remus counted up his purchases.

"I did pretty well with it back in school, but really my main experience is in Defence, and I bet you know more than I do on that subject by now." He smiled. It was a warm smile, the type that Harry used to earn from Remus often, so many years ago. Their time together watching over Hermione had drawn them close once more; at least they owed the curse that. "Why? And what dragged you out of St. Mungo's?"

"This." Harry pulled out a pile of scrolls and notebooks and dumped them unceremoniously on the counter. "I found these at Hermione's flat and honestly, they don't mean squat to me. Half of this is in some cipher that I don't recognize and can't break, the rest is probably basic stuff but I just never studied Arithmancy much. I was wondering if it meant anything to you." He gestured helplessly at the shifting tower.

Remus grabbed a rolled up scroll and unfurled it. In very fine, intricate lines a set of mixed numbers, letters and magical glyphs were written out, scrawled in a swirling design over most of the surface of the scroll. In the bottom, right corner in very neat, block script, was a simple algebraic equation: 2x + 5y 27.

Squinting his eyes, he continued to study the parchment, his gaze caressing each line, each symbol and word. Letting out a soft sigh, he lifted his wand and with a flourish said, "_aperio."_

Nothing happened.

With a slightly stiffer flick of his wrist he incanted "_specialis loquor_." The scroll glowed a faint pink, but still the text remained lines and glyphs.

"Don't you think I would've tried those?" Harry asked.

With an 'I am not amused' look, Remus said, "Well I don't know what you have and haven't tried, Harry. Basic revealing charms are a good place to start."

Harry plucked the scroll from Remus' hand and stared at it. Sometimes things just came to him in a fuzzy mist of awareness and he continued to gaze at the numbers, hoping some insight would allow everything to just make sense, the numbers to morph into some hidden language he didn't even know he knew. But nothing happened, just as nothing had earlier. He became perturbed.

"Damn it! Hermione is rotting away while we sit here on our arses wasting time. Shite." The parchment hit the table hard where Harry threw it.

"So what, Harry, you think I don't give a damn? You, Hermione and Ron are all I have left. I want to see her safe and well as much as you do. Everyone else I cared about died in that war against that Dark prick…" He stopped in mid sentence, a dumb, dazed look on his face, and in a dash of movement he clumsily groped for the parchment, looking it over once more.

"What is it, what…" Harry halted his questioning at Remus' lifted hand.

"I thought this was familiar. Harry, see this equation."

"Yeah. Algebra, right? I never studied Muggle math at that level. What's it mean?"

"Well it looks like x is 1 and y is 5, or x could be 11 and y could be 1, or…" Harry looked at him shocked. "I _did_ study Algebra. Anyway, Hermione used this type of mathematical code in some of her encrypted messages to our spies and other operatives after she developed Equacrology." Harry listened intently, he knew Hermione developed a new cryptographic code that was used during the war but he didn't know the intricacies of her system. It never interested him enough for him to ask her about it. "I only knew about it after we won, if you call a field full of dead friends a win…" Remus growled, then cleared his throat to continue, "because it was so top secret. Not sure what it means though, but I know it is _the_ key to unlocking what this message says." His eyes were lit with excitement.

"Great," Harry ground out, "we have to break a secret code created by Hermione. One that not even Voldemort or his minions could break." He sat down in a huff. "Good luck to us."

"Well someone from the Order must know about it," Remus argued.

"Who do you think she was sending these messages to?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised, watching his friend.

Then an expression crossed Remus' face, a brief flash of sad enlightenment, "Severus. The receiving end was Severus Snape. Who is…"

"Who is dead," Harry finished for him flatly, not allowing his remorse through, remembering the moment in vivid, three-dimensional colour; almost slow motion. Snape rushing to stop two Death Eaters Harry hadn't been prepared for, sacrificing himself so Harry could cast the final curse that ended the Dark Lord's existence without any doubt. He would play it over and over on dark, lonely nights when he would catalogue all of his losses.

"But Harry," Remus pulled himself together, "there had to be someone else on our side within Voldemort's ranks. There had to've been because Severus wasn't always there to receive or send the messages we were passing."

Harry scowled and looked hard at Remus. "Remus, what do you know about the final battle, about the Order's role in the war? I still don't know all of the facts…" and it pissed him off. He'd resented being kept in the dark and not just because it was he who had to take down the Dark Lord. He felt betrayed. Why didn't they trust him? And did they only need him for the final death blow and nothing else? Even after the war trials he didn't know everything, such as why Draco Malfoy was acquitted, why another half dozen known Death Eaters were casually allowed to go free, why certain cases and evidence remained sealed and why the reports given to the public about the final confrontation were slightly massaged, spun to distort the actual events.

While he acknowledged that some of it probably had to do with their people infiltrating Voldemort's followers, still wishing to remain anonymous for their own safety, they couldn't have all been on their side.

It was moments like these when he really wished Dumbledore had been there for those final years of the war. Harry would not have been kept in the dark, fewer people would have had to be sacrificed and the public would know what occurred and who died to make it happen.

After Snape killed Dumbledore at the end of Harry's sixth year the Order had been a mess, totally disorganized, a hydra with too many heads trying to figure out which would wear the crown. Finally Kingsley Shacklebolt came out as the best choice to lead the Order against Voldemort. Practically everyone agreed he was the one, the strong arm to lead them into war, and the other senior members, such as Arthur and Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin, supported the decision.

Kingsley, through his sharp mind and Auror resources, as well as a few agents imbedded within other Ministry departments, not to mention Knockturn Alley's black market, had led the Order and the wizarding world to victory. His position lent to a shaky cooperation between the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic which turned the tides in the final months before Voldemort's demise.

But Harry knew the truth. It was a handful of people who really pulled it off. It was not with an inflated ego that Harry knew if it wasn't for himself, Hermione and Ron, they would have never won. He was key, not only in the final curse that took down the worst dark wizard of the age, but it was he and his friends that found the Horcruxes. It was their sacrifices that lead them down the path towards triumph.

With vague amusement, Harry recognized Kingsley, not he, portrayed the shining figurehead the wizarding population needed. Kingsley was the charming hero everyone expected Harry to be, with his bright smile, deep voice and shining gold loop. Harry only offered scowls to the praise and 'no comment' when asked about his actions against the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. None of it meant anything. His Order of Merlin First Class sat tucked away in the bottom of a trunk in his flat.

Kingsley, by then the Chief Auror, worked closely with Minister Scrimgeour and the Wizengamot through the trials, convicting captured Death Eaters and bringing a sense of closure to the conflict. Everyone thought he might be next in line for Minister. Harry wished his friend luck, but couldn't understand why anyone would want to willingly walk around with a target on their chest.

And he couldn't understand why his friend had kept things from him.

It wasn't just his problem with the Ministry, their muddling of facts, their dispensation of certain Death Eaters from trial or sentencing, it was the fact that Kingsley, after all they had gone through together, still hadn't come clean. Harry learned patience through the years, but it'd finally run out.

However, even if he couldn't stand being kept in the dark, he knew he couldn't totally alienate his friend and ex-boss. He still needed to attempt to get whatever information he could from the man.

So, it was with loyal optimism towards Kingsley Shacklebolt that Harry explained his plan and bid a hasty goodbye to Remus, walking out of Blumgeower Books to meet with his old boss.

* * *

"Harry. Good to see you. Change your mind? You coming back into the fold?" Kingsley asked, grinning broadly, leaning across his desk for Harry's hand.

"Not on your life, Kingsley." Harry gingerly shook with him.

"Well, what can I do for you? We still haven't found out anything about Hermione's attack." He looked apologetic.

"Oh, thanks for letting me know. Actually, I wanted to ask you about… the war."

Kingsley sat down hard in his chair, freeing a weary sigh. "What do you want to know?"

Harry did a double take and slowly lowered himself to the seat across from the drawn man. "Everything you haven't already told me. The things you kept from me. Who else did we have buried in Voldermort's ranks? Was Snape always on our side or just playing the best hand?"

At the last question Kingsley almost looked insulted. "Harry, the man died saving your life. Why would you question him now?"

Harry winced, unconsciously rubbing his scars. "I guess you're right. It just seemed he always hated me. I didn't really… understand him."

"Nobody did." Kingsley leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face, staring deeply at Harry. "Harry, Dumbledore was the only one who knew and understood Snape. To this day I have no idea what it was that connected those two. Why the Headmaster trusted Snape so thoroughly. Why he let Snape kill him. But he got us valuable information—if he had ever been outed as a spy, we wouldn't have won as cleanly as we did, if at all. He was too important. Perhaps he was even more crucial than you."

Harry started at this, leaning forward in his chair. Perhaps it was his already uncertain impression of his position in the Order or his current sense of being an after thought to the war effort, but Harry didn't appreciate being doled out as second to an ex-Death Eater, even if he had repeatedly saved his life. He began to interject when Kingsley cut him off.

"Oh Harry. There was so much cloak and dagger going on, even if I tried to spell it all out for you now I doubt it would make any sense. Hell, I didn't know everybody who might have been on our side. Snape was on our side. We couldn't have won without him. But we couldn't have won without you, either. I know you always hated being kept in the dark. And it wasn't that I didn't trust you… Nobody knew everything. Those were hard times. People didn't trust their own friends and family. There were Death Eaters everywhere and you'd vanished for a while, hunting down Horcruxes, which we didn't find out about until later."

"McGonagall knew," Harry murmured.

"But the rest of us at the time didn't. So you can see—we didn't know what you were up to." He took a deep breath. "Some people didn't even trust you, the Boy Who Lived, because _anyone_ could be a traitor."

The wind slowly died in Harry's sails and he sat there, deflated.

"I always wondered why you kept me in the dark," he said in a quiet voice.

"So did we." Harry's bright eyes darted up to Kingsley's dark ones. "Was there anything specific you wanted to know?"

"Yeah. Who else did we have planted? Planted deep? Who was Snape's second?"

"I thought you would've figured that out on your own," he chuckled stiffly, a dry sound that held little amusement.

"Malfoy?" The word was spoken quietly, tinged with awe.

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully.

"Wow, does that explain things."

"Yep."

"Shite."

"Yep."

* * *

Standing outside of the brightly lit, electric blue wizarding club, Harry felt incredibly undressed. Luckily for him it was early enough that nobody was there, the sun a muted orb behind the thick layer of gray clouds. The mist rolled about, a constant wetness that clung to the air and saturated everything if you didn't use a proper water repelling charm. Harry hadn't bothered and he stood at the entrance to Rain looking like a damp rat, his hair slightly mollified by the weight of the fine moisture. He hadn't known exactly what he wanted to say to Malfoy when he arrived and he tried to gather his thoughts, to organize his demands before he barged in there and demanded to see his arch-nemesis from school without any legal backing behind him.

Damn he hated needing that pointy-nosed, cold-hearted Slytherin.

Pulling himself up to his full height, he walked with purpose towards the entrance of the club. He pulled open the door, immediately accosted by deafening music and blinding, flashing lights. It forced him into a battle ready mode, senses tuned, eyes quick and encompassing, magic tingling. He scanned the scant people at the bar and, recognizing no one, he walked up to the barmaid. She had long brown hair and wore a mix of trendy Muggle clothing and wizarding wear.

"I need to speak to Draco Malfoy," he half-yelled over the din.

She smiled sweetly at him and said in a calm voice that seemed to be delivered directly into the bones of his inner ear, "I am sorry, I don't keep track of Mr. Malfoy. You will have to speak with Mr. Bledsoe." She nodded to a man Harry recognized, coming down the translucent stairs.

It was Malfoy's crony.

With a look of grim determination harbouring an attitude that he had all of the authority that he needed, he walked over to the enormous man.

"Mr. Bledsoe?" The man nodded, recognition in his eyes. "Harry Potter. I need to speak to Mr. Malfoy."

"Do you have an appointment, sir?" he asked not impolitely, though far too smoothly for such a rough looking man, and certainly not with the attitude one addressed an Auror. His wand was strapped to one leg, in easy grasping distance, but the big man made no move towards it.

_Crap, he knows I am no longer on the squad._ "No, but this is important."

"As are many things that Mr. Malfoy must attend to." Harry took in a deep breath, ready to begin a long tirade on why he had to see Malfoy, but Tyrone Bledsoe cut him off. "But I will let him know you are here. If you will excuse me," and the man returned upstairs.

Harry stood around, agitatedly fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his winter robes, pacing like a caged griffin in the brilliantly lit club when the deep voice alerted him. "Mr. Malfoy will see you, sir."

"Yeah, thanks." He followed Bledsoe upstairs, through a soundproof door, down a long hallway and to a very stately office.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in a high backed chair at an elegant mahogany desk that probably cost more than the combined total of items in Harry's flat. On his lips sat the typical Malfoy sneer, utterly condescending, completely snide. Harry wanted to punch it right off his self-righteous face.

"Malfoy, I need to talk to you," he eyed the huge bodyguard standing inside of the doorway. "Alone."

"I trust Mr. Bledsoe with anything you might have to say to me."

Annoyed, Harry decided to lay his cards on the table. "2x + 5y 27"

Draco looked momentarily stunned, but the emotion was quickly shuttered away behind a steel wall of control. "Math? You came here to discuss Muggle math?" Disdain dripped from his words.

"I need to know about the code." Harry leaned over the desk, edging closer to Malfoy, scanning for the tiniest hint in the stony man's features.

"I'm afraid you came to the wrong person. What code?"

"Come off it, Malfoy!" Harry swiped his hand across the desk, scattering papers and pens, tossing an elegantly framed picture across the room. Immediately, strong arms wrapped around him, an unbreakable force to hold him in check. He struggled against Malfoy's bodyguard.

"Get your hands off me, you ape. What's wrong, Malfoy? What happened to Crabbe and Goyle? Had to replace your little Death Eater friends with more mindless Neanderthals? Don't go anywhere without your pet thug?" Harry's wild power started to rise within the room, but Bledsoe did not release his strong grip.

"Get him out of here."

"Yes sir."

As Bledsoe dragged Harry out of the office, who continued to demand information about the code, Draco called out. "You have no power here, Potter. I have broken no laws. You are no longer an Auror. You seemed to have quit, or perhaps you have already forgotten. I suggest you ask nicely if you require something of a personal nature."

A sharp crack echoed through the hallway as a rift cracked up the wall, running from floor to ceiling. With a strain of effort, Harry pulled his power in, reigning in his anger and frustration. The arms around him tightened. "Holy crap," rumbled the deep voice.

"I can find my own way out," Harry said with false calm. The bouncer released him followed by the breath he had been holding as Harry walked out.

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco looked up at Tyrone standing in his office entrance, hoping with all his heart he wasn't bearing anymore news of bodies in his alley or ex-Aurors on his doorstep. The look on his bouncer's face made him uneasily aware of an avidity to lock himself away from the world for the unforeseen future.

"You have another visitor. Kingsley Shacklebolt from the Ministry."

A forlorn sigh escaped Draco's lips, causing Tyrone's eyebrows to lift.

"I can inform him you are busy, sir."

"No, send him in. But make him wait for a while, though. I want to finish some things." Tyrone nodded, his expressionless face lifting slightly with amusement, and left Draco's office.

Draco stared at this collection of pens, one of the few Muggle items he found he had a predilection for, picking one up and weaving it between his slender, dexterous fingers. He found the action calmed him, helped his mind to clear. The pen was compact and like a magical quill, it never needed refilling. And it danced so gracefully in his hand.

A good fifteen minutes passed before the polite knock on his door alerted Draco to his guest. Kingsley Shacklebolt, dressed in thick burgundy robes, strode into the room in casual confidence, as if he was on his own timeline, directed by nobody but himself.

Draco hated that about him.

Sturdy in frame, elegant with his gold hoop earring, Shacklebolt smiled down at the younger man. He advanced to the desk and laid a hand on the top, a casual air that strung Draco's nerves tight.

"How you been, Draco," he greeted. Any more familiarity and Draco was certain he would crack, without any preamble or warning. He placed the pen down on the desk and smiled thinly at his old ally, without sincerity or any hint of camaraderie.

"Fine, considering. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Shacklebolt?"

* * *

It was late afternoon. Overhead, the jackdaws cawed as they flew across the pallid blue sky. He was striding down the street, tilting every so often to avoid bumping someone as he quickly made his way to the coffee shop on the corner. 

After his disastrous meeting with Draco Malfoy, Harry had gone back to Kingsley and convinced his friend to help him. Harry knew he had to speak with Draco, that his childhood nemesis knew _something_ that was important. Harry knew this because his gut was screaming at him, telling him that Draco held the answer. His gut rarely proved false. So with an hour of begging, pleading, threatening and finally whining, Kingsley agreed to talk with Draco.

Apparently his old boss had something up his sleeve, because he sweet talked the ferret into meeting with Harry to discuss, civilly, whatever it was Harry needed.

Civilly.

Harry almost chuckled when Kingsley told him that and he promised his old friend he would do his best to be _civil_ to Draco Malfoy. He practically sniggered over that as he left the Head Auror's office, heading towards the meeting place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**  
_"I've got soul but I'm not a soldier"  
__The Killers – All These Things that I have Done_

The light filtered through bright, cut glass pictures dangling before the windows advertising different countrysides, depicting quaint villages and mountainscapes. Hovering over the tables like a flock of pigeons hung sets of equipment for archaic sports such as ancient snow shoes and old wooden water skis. It was a menagerie of useless, outdated junk that someone collected and thought looked trendy, creating an atmosphere of who knew what. Like most things Muggle, Draco didn't care for it. However, it was off the beaten path from his normal life and nobody would recognize him here.

He waited for fifteen minutes, stewing with indignation, before he finally saw the far too amused face of his lunch appointment. He had arrived late himself and was terribly annoyed that Harry had kept him waiting even longer.

"About time, Potter," Draco spat. The waitress had already asked him for his order three times and he didn't want to remain in the terribly Muggle restaurant any longer, touching Muggle things, breathing Muggle air.

"Draco, thank you for meeting me," Harry said, smiling. He offered his hand to Draco, who looked at it, frowning slightly. Finally, Harry pulled his hand back, unshaken, and sat down across from Draco at their little table surrounded by mismatching chairs, a completely plebeian touch. "Kingsley said you could help me out."

Rolling his eyes, Draco let out a bitter laugh. Oh certainly Draco would _help_ Harry out. Only after giving into Shacklebolt's veiled threats and urgent pleas. Draco felt that Harry made him sound practically philanthropic. It was sadly amusing.

The waitress came by one more time, keeping her eyes on Draco like someone would keep an eye on an unknown dog sitting on the street corner. Harry smiled up at her and ordered some coffee concoction that Draco didn't quite follow. When the waitress returned to Draco for his order, he grudgingly asked for the same. Harry had the audacity to laugh.

"Well, what is it you want, Potter? I do not have all day to accede to your petty needs."

All pretense dropped from Harry's demeanor and he quickly lifted a very subtle silencing shield around them. If Draco hadn't been looking for it, waiting for this semblance of secrecy to shroud them, he might have missed it. The rumors about Harry were apparently true. His eyes drifted to the crossing, double scars on his forehead. Harry's hand automatically smoothed down his crazy, black fringe.

"Good. Let's get down to business, shall we Malfoy. I know you were Snape's second; that you were working for the Order. I know you received coded messages from our side. Algebraic equations? I need to know how to decipher them. It's important–" He paused, looking earnestly at Draco as he handed him a tightly rolled parchment, "it might save Hermione."

There was a slight plea to Harry's words that almost caused Draco to tell him that yes, he could help with the code. As he took the parchment, he almost wanted to toss the pitiful man a bone, just to get him off his back, but Draco was not the kind of man to give away the upper hand.

"A code? The same thing you demanded to know about when you barged into my office, destroying my wall? Hmm… A code? I might know something about a code." The waitress arrived and set down their drinks, watching the two men curiously before she walked away. Draco picked up his cup and took a sip, startled that he enjoyed the flavor, bitter and sweet all at once. "What do I get out of it?" His cold gray eyes turned flat, even harder to read than normal as he stared down the man across from him.

"Damn it, Malfoy! I'll fix your damn wall if that is what this is about. Hell, what _do_ you want? I just want to help Hermione; I can't believe you'd hold out on me when it could possibly save her."

"You can't, can you?" He had always enjoyed pushing the easily excitable Gryffindor's buttons.

"This has nothing to do with us. What did Hermione _ever_ do to you?"

Draco could think of plenty of things that Mudblood had done to him, namely shaming him before his family. His father never forgave him for getting worse marks than that witch.

He took another calm sip of his mocha and asked again, "What is in it for me, Potter? Perhaps I am aware of this code, maybe I know exactly what is wrong with your little friend," he spat, leaning forward in the chair, "but you will have to make it worth my while."

A crackle filled the air and Draco worried that he might have pushed a little too hard. He didn't know exactly what Harry was capable of, didn't know how much patience the man had compared to the boy. The hairs on the back of his forearms rose, just like they had when he stood out in the thunder and lightening at his family's summer home in France, and he had to consciously stop himself from crossing his arms before him in a defensive gesture. Finally, with a look of utter hatred Harry growled, "What do you want, Malfoy?"

What did he want? He had run for so long, done what he was told even longer, that he hadn't considered what it was he really wanted anymore. He wanted his place in wizarding society back. He wanted his family whole again, not dead and scattered. He wanted to forget some of his mistakes, or at least be forgiven of them. But Draco would let none of this sentimental drivel materialize. "A life for a life, Potter. I help you with Granger and you owe me a Life Debt."

"That's not how it works, Malfoy," Harry growled.

"It is now."

* * *

After his closed trial and acquittal of all crimes, Draco had to make himself scarce. Walking through Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade was an act of compete idiocy, as the people who recognized him from his fine features and pale hair threw insults at him, and sometimes rotting fruit, pretending in their upraised voices to be righteous. Righteous with their clean hands and ignorance of the true cost of war. He smiled at them in return, a grim smile holding no warmth. None of them realised the true price of their unspoiled conscience. 

Then he remembered; he did what he did for himself, not these ingrates. He was no martyr. And his trademark sneer replaced the sadness hidden on his lips.

He'd often reminisced over those first few months following the war before he escaped to France; maudlin thoughts always seemed to grace his doorstep these days. After his discussion with Harry—or argument depending on how one looked at it—Draco returned to his club to reflect on his life: past, present and future. Some might call it wallowing in self-pity—but a Malfoy never wallowed.

Sitting at his heavy, antique desk, rolling a Muggle pen back and forth across a piece of clean, white parchment, Draco reflected on Harry's question. What _did_ he want? Acceptance? Approval? Acknowledgement? It wasn't that he was ashamed—a pureblood, pedigreed aristocrat like himself had nothing to be ashamed of—it was that he wished to be known for something other than his breeding, other than his childhood actions. That people couldn't recognize his shrewd mind for business or his grace on the dance floor frustrated him. Even without his father's inheritance—all holdings seized by the courts after Lucius' post-mortem trial—Draco had worked his way up with only his cleverness and noble name, now tarnished by the Dark Mark. Like father, like son.

But unlike his father, Draco recognized a losing battle when he saw one. Knew that while purebloods were superior, indiscriminate slaughter wasn't the way to prove it, and being led by a half-blood only made it all the more ludicrous.

So, behind Lord Voldemort's lines, wrapped tight in his father's iron fist, Draco finally started to view the world with his own set of scales and realised not only were they deficient on common sense, but also sanity. The purebloods, feeling abandoned by the wizarding world, were blindly following this half-blood, insane megalomaniac to their own destruction.

By then, there really was no way out, at least not that he was cognizant of, so he kept his mind sharp and his eyes even sharper, searching for that crack, the tiny bit of wiggle room he needed. So he bided his time until Severus Snape took him under his wing. Finally, he truly became Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Initially, it was nigh impossible to remove himself from under this father's watchful gaze, but he hadn't objected since being the son of an inner circle member had its perks. Like a pretty showpiece, Draco kept himself clean, in more ways than one. Lucius appreciated his son not volunteering for any of the more gruesome projects the Dark Lord condoned and Draco was never forced into such tasks. Draco never tortured, never killed, and never sold himself for favours or information that might aid their cause. Perhaps he still harbored some dignity. His independence within the Dark Lord's army happened slowly, gaining small victory by small victory. Earning trust, but never trusting: lulling the others into complacence, always keeping aware of the inner struggles and power structure. In Draco's opinion it played out just like a popularity contest and in those games he always came out on top. 

But here he ran with the wolves, and keeping ahead hadn't come as easy as it did in his childhood.

During his first few weeks, before he regained the trust of some of the minions of Voldemort, he would watch them. Out of sight, under cover of dark corners and the exhaustion weighing on the other Death Eaters, Draco overheard people whispering, spiteful words that rarely spread beyond those first lips. They dared say that it was Draco who should have done _the deed_ and he should not have been welcomed back because of his failure. He was surprised Voldemort hadn't killed him and wondered about the price his father had paid for his life. Lucius never mentioned anything, but the stiff look of disappointment could not be ignored, so prominent when he looked at his son. The solemn 'thank you's from Narcissa, that Severus kindly dismissed, repeated over and over so Draco felt sickened every time his mother forced out those words.

But over time, he did gain standing and independence. He became the prince of the Death Eaters, a title he bore with ease. Cold and calculating, the young Slytherin worked his way into the cliques and under the gaze of the salient members. But his past transgressions would never truly be forgotten, not where it really counted. The Dark Lord never trusted him again and Draco knew this with every ounce of acumen he possessed. At night it gave him a deep sense of relief.

When he was finally allowed to take on tasks for Voldemort's army, his duties began with small projects, usually researching or piecing together reconnaissance. Nothing sensitive. Most just a test of his skills, a waste of his time. Eventually, they allowed him to aid other wizards and witches in brewing potions or creating what they called 'curse bombs', but he was never allowed in any planning sessions or given any access to the deeper, secret knowledge the trusted inner circle was privy to.

At first, Draco wanted nothing to do with Severus, lionized for his defeat of Dumbledore, praised for duping the wizened old mage for all those years. Draco's ex Potions Professor stole his prize, claimed his glory. It was Draco who snuck the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. It was Draco who had his wand trained on the barmy, old coot. He _was_ going to cast the curse, the deadly words poised on his lips ready to take form and bathe Dumbledore in the putrid, green light.

Fortunately, it hadn't taken Draco long to admit the words of the old wizard had been impelling, nesting in his mind, sleeping like a viper just waiting to strike once Draco's mind finally cleared.

Lucidity hit him one stormy evening, locked away in his quarters struggling to break an infuriating message intercepted by Julius Rookwood. It all finally clicked. He had been working at a manor house in northern England for five months, mindlessly going through the motions of being a good little Death Eater before he realised it all. That he couldn't follow Lord Voldemort, he never would have spoken those killing words, and Severus Snape had saved him from being a murderer at the green age of seventeen.

Perhaps he never would have grown into the man he was now if it hadn't been for the Dark Lord, but Draco didn't like to dwell on that. He liked to offer that prestigious acclaim to Severus.

* * *

"Mreow?" "MEOW!" The call was persistent and questioning and Harry was at a loss as to what to do. Coming by daily to feed Crookshanks wasn't necessarily a hardship, but the poor feline was lonely and Harry really didn't have the time to play with him like a proper pet sitter. 

"Mrrup?"

"You miss her, dontcha?" Crookshanks butted Harry's hand with his flat face and rubbed on him, seeking contact. "I know, 'Shanks, I do too."

The furry cat, cultivating a few mats without his daily brushings, jumped off of Harry's lap and then ran across the room to the hearth, sat down and yowled.

"MREEOWW!" he cried, almost exasperated. The tone closely reminded Harry of Professor Snape when Harry took too long to catch onto some subtle trick to stirring a particularly touchy potion. The cat sat, swishing his tail sharply, staring into the cold fireplace.

"What? Do you want to go see Hermione at St. Mungo's?" Harry laughed.

Crookshanks jumped to his feet and started walking in circles before the hearth, purring loud enough for Harry to hear across the room.

He stood and walked towards the distressed cat. He understood that Crooshanks missed Hermione, but they didn't allow animals in the hospital, did they? Thinking it over, he couldn't imagine they would welcome the large cat, but he also didn't expect it would cause any worsening of Hermione's condition. It would probably even help her in some unconscious way.

"Well, we shall see, now won't we kitty." He leaned over and picked up Crookshanks. The cat wiggled in disdain at being handled by anyone other than Hermione, but seeming to understand that Harry was helping, soon stilled.

Harry slowly petted him. The fur started to glisten, then shimmer and eventually faded away, leaving behind only a toothy grin, which soon followed, glittering into nonexistence. Nobody who wasn't searching for the cat would notice anything amiss, other than Harry holding his arm in an odd way, but he figured nobody would notice his arm when he had those stupid crossed scars to fawn over. He picked up some Floo Powder, tossed it into the fireplace and stepped through to the hospital.

Too many people stood in the lobby for such a late hour. They all murmured amongst themselves, concern gracing some faces, all of them looking tired. Harry simply ignored those who looked up at him as he walked to Hermione's room. Inside Mediwitch Periwinkle was looking over Hermione's statistics. A table of potions stood beside the bed and curled up on the chair, sleeping soundly, was Ron.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," the healer greeted. She had decidedly calmed down in his presence and Harry no longer had the urge to flee every time she talked to him.

Casually he leaned down, presumably to tie his shoe, and dropped Crookshanks to the ground. The cat, sly as ever, quickly ran beneath the bed and waited.

"Hello, Mediwitch Periwinkle, how is Hermione doing today?"

Plastered on the woman's face was the same mask, not offering too much hope, but not taking any away, either. "No change."

"How long's he been here," he gestured to Ron.

"He arrived about five hours ago. Been napping most the time, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, he looks dead to the world. What's going on out there? Seems more people than normal in the Floo Centre."

"Oh, some form of influenza we think. Over the last few days we've had quite a few people complaining about lack of energy and unstable magical levels. We're still looking into it," she said as she busied herself with Hermione's diagnostics.

She eventually left after administering some potions and tucking her patient in. With her exit, Crookshanks jumped up on the bed and began kneading Hermione's motionless form. Harry walked over and placed his hand upon her brow, reaching in and feeling for Hermione's magic and was surprised to feel it swelling, undulating almost, behind the closed barrier within her. Harry gasped at the slight connection.

It had been years since Harry really bonded with anyone. It wasn't that he didn't trust people; it was more like he no longer bothered. Catching the dark wizard had been his job. He wasn't there to make friends, toss a snitch around after work or meet guys in bars. He had no time for that. And he couldn't afford the weakness. He was out to catch dark wizards and nothing would get in his way.

Now he was no longer an Auror. The capture of dark wizards was no longer his duty, though his thoughts often returned to his piles of evidence on the recent Death Eater activity, so easily taking second place to Hermione's condition. Without his job and only a handful of friends who really mattered, Harry almost drowned in his cosmic loneliness. His friends were a valuable commodity; he couldn't lose any of them.

"Harry?" mumbled Ron, quite groggy form his nap. "When'dya get here?"

"Just now," Harry said, dragged out of the gloom he seemed to consistently find himself in. "Ron, I can feel Hermione. She's stronger; I can sense her more now."

Ron practically leapt out of his chair and grabbed for his girlfriend's hand. "Really, Harry? You sure?" He clutched at her like a lifeline.

"Yes. I am," Harry said softly, watching the emotions flutter across his friend's face, his eyes almost watery at the hope sitting there. "I'm gunna go call Remus, he'll wanna know. And watch out for Crookshanks." He chuckled as he left, hearing Ron exclaim as he finally noticed the cat.

The hallways remained busier than usual as Harry mindlessly walked the familiar pathway to the Floo Centre of the hospital. He didn't notice Mediwitch Periwinkle until she finally spoke to him, which was either a testament to her quiet walk or to Harry's distraction.

"Mr. Potter, I would like to speak with you for a moment, if you will."

"Yes, what is it?"

"About the cat –"

Harry's jaw dropped. How in Merlin's name did she notice Crookshanks? His impression of the mediwitch ratcheted up a few notches. "Yes?" he drawled.

"I don't mind the animal being present, perhaps it will help Miss Granger recover, but you must keep it a secret and not allow it outside of room 421. Is that understood?" She was smiling at him, no longer in any adoring way, but with true warmth.

He returned her smile, relieved. "Of course, and thank you." She simply nodded and walked away.

* * *

The cold air caused perpetual goose bumps all over his arms. Or perhaps it was the filling moon, only a few days away from its full orb. He couldn't sleep. He could never sleep well before the full moon and as he grew older, it only got worse. Everything was getting worse. 

He took another long sip from his glass, hoping the brandy would warm him up from the inside out.

"Remus?"

It was well past midnight and the late call startled him; the goose bumps stiffened causing his arm hairs to rise. It seemed everything startled Remus this close to his transformation.

He took in a deep breath. Let it out. Took in another and got up.

"Harry? Is anything wrong?" Remus waved Harry through and shook his friend's hand.

"No, not wrong," Harry said excitedly. "Hermione seems to be doing a little better, actually. I can feel her – you know, like how I told you – feel her magic. It's stronger. I brought in Crookshanks, not sure if he had anything to do with it or not, but I figure it couldn't hurt. And now I can feel her magic even more!"

Remus followed Harry back to Hermione's room at St. Mungo's, eager to be out of his miserable apartment, eager to be doing something, _anything_.

As they entered the room Ron looked up and smiled at them, slowly petting Hermione's hair. Remus sniffed, smelling the cat who slowly materialized out of thin air as Remus actively looked for him. If the smell hadn't given him away, the purr certainly would have. The cat buzzed like a small Muggle hedge trimmer as he steadily kneaded Hermione's left leg.

Conjuring up a spare chair, he sat down next to Harry across the bed from Ron. They all remained in silence as they shared in Hermione's small victory. Slowly, he started to relax and eventually drifted off, dreaming of full moons and long gone memories of running free beneath them.

* * *

It was the smell that initially pulled him out of sweet dreams of Padfoot, Prongs and that retched Wormtail. Remus hated thinking kindly of that little bastard, and scolded his subconscious for bringing up pleasant memories of him. He _would_ not let go of that hatred; it kept him even warmer some nights than the brandy. 

Remus looked up just as the most unexpected visitor entered room 421. As the blond aristocrat strutted in, Remus wondered just how long he had stood outside the hospital room before he found the balls to enter. The scent of nervous apprehension seeped off the young man, causing the wolf within to rise in feral delight.

"Potter. I want to talk to you." Draco looked around the room, the institutional white now slightly coated in a layer of long cat fur. He seemed shocked at the minor gathering of his old foes.

"So, Malfoy. Talk." Harry sat in a chair next to Hermione's bed, holding the witch's hand gently in his own. Ron scooted his own chair around to face the door, shooting the most scathing glare in Draco's direction.

Remus remained leaning back in his conjured seat, holding himself in check, nostrils flaring.

Tension poised in the silence that followed, Draco saying nothing, the others watching. The only thing he received in return for his reticence was a glower through Harry's dark, messy hair.

They were all startled out of their glaring match when Crookshanks jumped down from the bed and ran up to Draco, rubbing between his legs, purring all the while.

This definitely broke the strain.

Staring dumbly at the cat, Draco looked shocked. Remus waited for the intruder to say something. It tested his patience since all he wanted to do was rush over and rip Draco's throat out with his blunt, human teeth. Things had definitely got harder in these later years.

But the shock didn't last long and Draco quickly veiled his features, looking up condescendingly at Harry as he tried to step away from the persistent feline.

"Have you thought about the Debt, Potter?"

"Yes," Harry ground out.

"Well?"

"Why you here, Malfoy? It's," Harry looked up at the timepiece on the wall, "2 a.m. I'm sure this could have waited till morning."

Draco threw a scroll at Harry, who deftly grabbed it out of the air. "That is what I deciphered for you. I don't know where the exact Key is, Potter, but if you do, that will help if you need anymore deciphered. If you want any more help, remember the Debt." With a glower, he turned and walked out.

The mix of smells within the room overpowered Remus' sensitive nose as the emotions ran high and he gave up trying to make sense of it all. He scanned the rolled up parchment in Harry's hand, wondering what that little exchange was all about


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**  
_"I walk a lonely road, the only road that I have ever known."  
__Green Day – Boulevard of Broken Dreams_

Tiny sparkles, like the spray of the ocean surf, reflected in the deep purple of the coming night. Harry loved it up here, sprawled out, alone and quiet on his building's roof, set on the edge of the city. On some evenings when the air swelled a little thicker or perhaps the Muggle electricity grew a tad dim, the lights from the city seemed faint, almost muted, and the stars stood out in vibrant contrast against the expanse of the universe.

Harry cherished the night, a veiled realm where he didn't have to put on a face, had nobody to impress, nobody to report to. He felt insignificant, yet at peace. It was the velvet darkness and himself. No lies to tell and no expectations he would fail to live up to. The night demanded nothing.

With a twitch of his will, Harry built up the shadows. The last trace of light faded and the utter blackness, magically untouched by the city lights, embraced the young man and he sighed in peace.

He had plenty to ruminate over tonight. The three of them left for Hermione's flat after Draco dropped his little bomb at their feet, leaving Crookshanks behind to watch over their friend. They scrutinized the scroll, both magically and physically, and found no traps hidden within.

The information, now that was another story. Could it be anything but lies? Some false message left behind to tempt them; a cryptic note that hinted at much but illuminated nothing. Did it really come from their cherished friend or was it all part of one of Malfoy's sick games?

As the three unraveled the lengthy roll of paper, Harry's eyes jumped over the page. The writing was in neat, precise print. It was Hermione's, in full, living colour as if she'd just jotted down a note to Harry, Ron and Remus and it wasn't some final hint calling out from beyond a comatose grave.

…_it just doesn't add up._

_Perhaps my old contact could shed some light on this new development. M seems to think it might have something to do with her old alliances, though her proof was thin at best._

_After further tests I still cannot determine what has happened to her magical stability. It seems to fluctuate and I have not yet found a pattern. It has nothing to do with anything naturally physical such as her hormone levels, the food she has eaten or her daily activities. This curse is __old__. I believe with enough study I can prove that it is far older than even our current form of Magic. It fascinates me, though I worry for M's declining health. _

_I want to bring in Harry, but she won't trust anyone else. If I can get some information from my old contact, perhaps I can develop a case to earn M's trust. I hope he will answer my request. I hope I can find him, for that matter._

_Other avenues: Check into ancient artefacts. Perhaps talk to Arbormore at the Museum in Cairo; see if Bill can help with that. Go to Hogwarts and review the Restricted Section again, I might have missed something. Speak to Hexine to see if she is aware of this type of deep magic._

_My next course of action is to start developing my own… _

"That's it?" Ron had whinged.

Harry didn't disagree, and now as he sat on the roof, enveloped in complete dark, he admitted his own frustration. They had many possibilities to check out, but which ones should they try first and was this really, truly something from Hermione's own hand?

He didn't think that Malfoy would be sadistic enough to taunt them with this hope, but then who was he kidding? Did he even remember the git back in school? It was amazing how just a few years skewed perception and muddled old hatreds. Malfoy used to torment Harry and his friends. He would purposefully get them into trouble, not to mention Umbridge's little Inquisitorial Squad where Malfoy docked points from anyone for anything, including Hermione for being a Muggle-born. How could he trust him?

The truth became evident. He didn't. But he had to do what he could for Hermione, even if it meant playing this dangerous game with Malfoy.

The grit and gravel on the roof dug into Harry's shoulders and the back of his head where he lay out flat on the rough surface, but he paid it little attention. It was the emptiness he focused on, within and without.

* * *

Strong hands, normally sturdy in action, shook as they reached down to cradle the glassy ball between them. The man suddenly felt whole, complete like nothing he could even comprehend before he discovered the orb. Looking deep into the swirling mass of colours within, the man lost himself. Nothing else mattered but the orb and its blaze of power.

_Yes, my wizard. Feel the power. All of it yours. More of it to be yours. Obey your promise. Obey the promise you made to me, wizard._

The man continued to stare into the crystalline sphere settled between his palms, no emotions on his face, only a thin line of silver drool trailing down his chin.

* * *

Remus felt like utter shite. Every bone, every sinew and muscle in his body ached from being ripped apart and rebuilt twice in one night. His body couldn't take this anymore. He didn't know how long he was going to last. Each transformation became harder and harder to shake off, the wolf holding more and more control even after the moon's light faded away. Did werewolves eventually become frozen in their canine form? He hadn't uncovered such a horror in any of his research, but most werewolves didn't live that long either. Without dwelling too much, he let his mind briefly acknowledge how easy things had been with the Wolfsbane Potion. But the only man who could brew it was dead, so it was a wasted effort to even think about such things.

And sometimes, niggling in the back of his brain, he wished he _could_ just stay the wolf. Run free, away from his pointless life; die in some horribly, fantastic way, just like Sirius did, just like his friend would have wanted for Remus. None of this rotting away business. None of this shadow of an existence.

But the responsible core of Remus would never allow that. He would end his own life before the wolf took hold of the reins, ruling him in complete abandon. The thought of infecting another caused belly cramps and increased the blood pulsing in his temples. His only true fear.

His employer at Blumgeower Books, an old wizard named "Toots" Tulain, let him have the full moon off no matter where it fell in his regular schedule, but the day after wasn't a guarantee.

The morning was cold and faint, edging towards the shortest day of the year, and though he diligently opened the shop at 7 am sharp, he didn't receive a customer until 9:15. During the first two hours Remus just sat there, still and empty, sipping cold tea laced with a pain killing draught and trying to forget the hurting. He wished he were with Harry, working on unlocking the other scrolls in Hermione's home, or even out with Ron in Mexico, striving to take in the dark wizard. But he was at Blumgeower instead. Warming a chair with his half dead body, taking up space just in case a customer came by, alive and functioning only during those few moments where the patron either scans a few rows of books and leaves disgusted or finds some random text and buys it out of pity for the sorry man waiting behind the counter.

He lived as a shadow, only active in the activity of others.

While he hated his job and he hated the books surrounding him, moldy and speaking only dead words, his hidden self knew if he did not have Blumgeower he would have already dried up and blown away in gloomy winds, succumbing to the constant whispers he thought he could hear when the air rustled from some unknown origin. Sometimes he would strain to listen to the words, but they were never clear, and eventually he gave up, sure it was only his addled brain, twisted with grief. They were always stronger during the full moon, and they kept getting stronger over these past few months. Remus knew it was proof of his slipping sanity.

He pulled a flask out from under the counter and took a swig, chasing the sorrow away, making the shadows retreat.

With the sound of the door opening, he quickly returned the flask and appeared attentive as a small mob of red-robed Aurors walked in.

Remus sighed. While the Aurors hadn't bothered him much in recent years, some would come in to poke sticks at the tame werewolf from time to time. Harry and Tonks often spoke for him and his lack of trouble making seemed to waive these little social visits, but Tonks had been gone for years and now Harry could offer no more help either.

Sirius would have blown up with indignation for him, he knew. He tried to do his best to watch out for Remus, even leaving him everything in the will. But Remus' status as a werewolf disallowed him the honour of inheriting the Black holdings, so they went to Harry. Harry did what he could to look after Remus too, but the last thing he wanted was to be taken care of by his inherited godson. Remus could take care of himself. He always had.

He didn't have much, but he had his pride.

"Remus J. Lupin?" asked one Auror, a short man with a round, jowly face.

"Yes, that's me." He had established an agreement with the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that they wouldn't check on him at work, but apparently they were not going to play nice today.

"Can you come with us, Mr. Lupin?" another asked. This Auror had a pointed nose and a thick head of light brown hair. But perhaps the most noticeable feature was a cruel twist to his lips. "Your presence is requested by the Werewolf Registry."

"Excuse me, but I _am_ working. I can't just leave the store unattended. Perhaps I can come by after I close the shop or tomorrow before 7 a.m.?"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I am afraid that is not possible. You must come with us now. Apparently, you haven't been reviewed in four years. That's a terrible lapse in your paperwork, grounds for incarceration."

The two Aurors were switching off, one asking one question, the other asking the next. Three other Aurors, noticeably younger than the speaking two, watched in awe, eyeing Remus with sick fascination.

"I have been reviewed regularly; the reports should be in my file. They were done by another Auror, Harry Potter; we conduct interviews every six months. Isn't that in the file?"

"Well yes," the jowly man said, "However, Harry Potter is no longer with us and we've reason to believe he might have not performed a full inquiry and investigation during his interviews."

"Can I at least make a fire call? I can't leave the store unattended," he asked, words tumbling over themselves.

The two men looked at each other. The cruel one went to open his mouth, sadistic glee evident on his face, but was interrupted by the jowly man.

"Yes Mr. Lupin, you may make _one_ call."

And Remus knew it had to be a good one. As he turned, flanked by the two men, to enter the back room and make the call, he debated on whether to call his boss or Harry. Once he reached the fireplace he had made his decision.

"Hermione Granger, London. Harry, are you there?"

"What, you can't call him!" sputtered the pointy nosed Auror.

Remus prayed to gods he really didn't believe in that Harry was even there and would answer the call. "It's Remus." Desperate, he stated the obvious. Remus knew that Harry was spending more time there trying to decipher the other pages without going to Draco Malfoy to do it for him. He crossed his fingers for added luck.

It paid off.

"Remus. Come in," came Harry's welcoming shout.

"Can't. Being taken in by two Aurors due to lack of review." Remus tried to keep his tone steady, but even he recognized the hint of panic to it. Those interview cells were horrors he never wanted to return to again. Torture chambers really, with their silver plated doors and walls and windowless suffocation. He hadn't had to be interviewed in one of those since Harry's final year in Hogwarts and he knew he just couldn't go back there. Not now. It was enough to make even the sanest werewolf chew through his arm in anxiety.

"What? I'm coming through."

"Wait! You can't just let him through, what…" the jowly Auror seemed at a loss for words.

"Why can't he, Agent Savage?" Harry asked, none too pleased as he dusted off soot from his jeans and shirt. "What is going on here?"

The other Auror stepped forward, aiming his pointy nose a little in the air. "Mr. Potter, you have no reason to be here, this is Ministry business, and as you're not with the Ministry anymore—"

"Oh yes, Agent Wilkes, so you come to harass a man the minute I'm no longer an Auror? Keeping an upstanding citizen from performing his job for stupid paperwork issues? Anyway, how the hell could you miss the very detailed reports and interviews that were conducted with Remus in his file?"

"Interviews conducted by you. Don't you see there is some conflict of interest here?" explained Agent Savage.

"Perhaps you missed the fact that they were co-signed by other Aurors just in case my making the interview might have been an issue," Harry said.

"Ah… well… I hadn't found those documents in the report, Mr. Potter." Agent Savages' jowls quavered.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You can speak with Agent Shacklebolt about if it you need to, he was one of the co-signing Aurors."

Agent Savage glanced over at his partner, who refused to meet his eyes. He looked back up at Harry and Remus, "Perhaps that is true, but we still need to conduct the interview, one that hasn't been conducted by one of your friends. You are due anyway."

Harry's stiff posture relaxed as some tension eased out of his shoulders. Remus suddenly felt hopeful. "Do you have to drag him away from his job for it? Remus isn't going to run and he loves this job, it would be very unfortunate if he was fired due to a little excitement about an interview. Perhaps you could do it here, and I could watch the store. Is that unreasonable?"

Remus watched Harry work his charm on the older man. It was obvious Savage looked up to Harry in some way, or at least valued his opinion. Wilkes, on the other hand, was barely concealing open hostility. The air reeked, almost causing Remus to sway under the swath of venomous fumes emanating off the Auror. He often valued his ability to sense emotions, his wolf's power of smelling pheromones, but right now he wished his nose was blind.

And then he sensed the magic, the tiny tingle he had learned was Harry's so subtle touch. It wasn't so much that he was casting a spell, more like Harry decided he wanted something and the universe worked with him to grant him his wish. Remus figured that Harry didn't perform magic, it was like he _was_ magic. If it was any other man with this power, Remus would fear for the world.

"Well, as long as we can continue with our interview, I see no problem completing it here," said Agent Savage jovially. Wilkes looked momentarily confused, continuing to glare at Harry, but eventually conceded.

Remus sighed with relief.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Remus, I'll watch the shop for you." Harry waved as he walked back to the front of the store.

* * *

The interview was pointless, consisting of the same old questions Harry always bombarded him with as he replied with the same dry responses. However, some were new and rather insulting. No, he hadn't left Great Britain. Yes, he was holding down a steady job. No, he hadn't bitten anyone. Yes, they had his address correct. Yes, he was still going through his change at Kildrummy castle in Scotland. No, he didn't intend to leave the country. Yes, he knew he had to contact Werewolf Registry if he intended to leave the country. Yes, he knew he wasn't allowed to have children. And on and on. He answered dutifully; relieved he wasn't in an interview cell at the Ministry. Relieved he wouldn't lose his boring job.

As the interview concluded, Savage stood to shake Remus' hand, apparently happy to have done his duty while Wilkes seemed obviously annoyed he didn't get to drag Remus through the streets of Knockturn Alley…preferably by his hair. They returned to the main shop where Harry was busy chatting with the younger Aurors, regaling them with some exciting chases he'd been in under his capacity as an Auror.

"So, Mr. Potter, could you tell us about how you did it?" asked one excited young man.

The temperature dropped in the room as Harry's relaxed form pulled tight. "Did what?" he drawled.

"Well, killed He-Who-Must… you know, Voldemort." It was obviously an effort for the junior Auror to stay the name, even after all these years.

"I don't like to talk about that."

"Oh." The young man finally realised he stepped onto a topic that wasn't welcome by The Man Who Killed Voldemort and began to busy himself by twiddling his wand.

"Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Lupin. I see that there really wasn't much for us to worry about. We will be in contact with you in six months to set up your next interview. Have a nice day." Agent Savage walked out of the door to the little bookshop, followed by the three junior Aurors. Agent Wilkes remained.

"Yes, Mr. Lupin, have a nice day. I am sure we will be seeing each other in the future." His cruel smirk left Remus with a welt of worry and a sigh of relief as he walked out the door.

* * *

Impatiently, Harry waited in the stiff, wooden chair. The terrible chairs of the Auror Division were one thing he definitely didn't miss. He twirled his wand in his hand, mind combing the mental images of the other scrolls that also held a small algebraic equation in the lower, right corner of the page.

While he finally accepted his current unemployed status, sure that he had made the right decisions, Harry hadn't thought of how his actions might affect those he cared about. How those blood thirsty Aurors, especially Agent Wilkes, descended on Remus worried Harry. His friend was already living in a precarious balance; he didn't think the added stress could do anything good for him.

"Harry, sorry to keep you waiting." Kingsley shook hands with Harry, his other hand holding a thick, tan file. "I heard about what happened." Kingsley didn't look happy.

"You should have seen how shaken Remus was, Kingsley. I know he isn't the same as he was, back when he taught… well ever since Tonks really. But he was on the edge. What set Savage and Wilkes off on him? Why this sudden interest in his interviews now?"

Kingsley set the file down on the desk and opened it. He pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table towards Harry.

Harry scanned the page; saw the list of Remus' interviews, his signatures followed by another Auror's signature, sometimes Kinglsey, sometimes Ron, often another uninvolved party. This was all familiar to Harry.

Kingsley pushed across another pile of papers, these also familiar, but Harry flipped through them anyway. They were all scheduling forms setting up Remus' interviews. They also had Harry's signature on them, as well as Mr. Gruper, the head of the Werewolf Registry. The most recent one didn't have Mr. Gruper's signature on it. Instead it was signed by Agent Ted Riley, an Auror in Harry's old division.

"What? Why is Riley's signature on this one? That makes no sense."

"I looked into that. Apparently Riley not only works under the Auror Division as an undercover agent, but also the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He has been working in that Division for about five weeks now."

Harry stared at Kingsley, confused.

"Another thing, Harry. Riley's younger brother was killed by a werewolf."

* * *

Ted Riley looked up from a set of papers on his desk and smiled congenially at Harry. He was a wiry man with thin lips, rather nondescript except for the stiff way he held himself, as if always ready to be jumped. His only other distinguishing feature was his very short hair, an anomaly amongst wizardkind.

"Hey, Harry, what brings you to the Ministry. Couldn't handle being away could you?" He grabbed a mug and took a long sip, draining it dry.

"Hi Ted, pretty good. And no, I don't plan on coming back. But I did have a question for you."

"Oh yea?" He pulled out a bag from his desk, dumped some powder from the bag and poured milk over it. With a flick of his wand he started mixing and warming the contents. "Mexican hot chocolate. Good stuff. Got a batch of it when I was down in the Yucatan. Wanna try some?" He started digging around his desk for another cup, pulling out drawers and rifling through papers.

"Ah no, thanks though." Instinct told Harry that something was up. Riley was never this friendly with him before, never babbled. Harry assumed Riley knew why he had come by. "Listen, I want to talk to you about Remus Lupin."

Riley stopped rummaging around in his desk. He looked up at Harry with a less amicable expression. _This is the Riley I remember_, Harry thought.

"He was almost dragged to a silver lined interrogation cell, now only used with violent individuals, from his job, practically ensuring that he would be canned. He hadn't broken any laws and isn't a danger to society. It was your signature that instigated the investigation. Is there a reason why?"

"Potter, you know very well why I pulled up Lupin's file. While I'm sure you did an adequate job questioning him, you are his friend. Perhaps there was something he was doing wrong that you were blind to because of your friendship," he said matter-of-factly.

"You didn't think I would do a good job because I know him?"

"It wasn't that I thought you wouldn't do a good job… sometimes when our emotions get caught up—"

"Like the fact that your brother was killed by a werewolf," Harry interrupted.

Riley stood and slammed his hand to his desk, suddenly exploding in anger. "That's uncalled for Potter, and you know it."

"Remus is a celebrated war hero. If it wasn't for his actions during the war we might not have won against Voldemort. Please treat him with the respect he deserves. And from now on Kingsley will be handling his case." Harry turned to walk out, but Riley called him back.

"You can't do that Potter, it's my jurisdiction."

"Not this case." And Harry left.

* * *

_Fresh air. Open space. Running, running free. A scent on the breeze, it hung there, thick and welcoming. He turned to the smell and there stood his friend, his companion. Large, black dog tackled him, pulling him to the ground, and a tussle, a roll and friendly nips and yips. Howling. Howling at the moon. Celebrating life._

Often, as dreams unfurled, the images faded in and out of clarity. Some were so thin, barely an image or a sense and some came in crystal clear like a photograph, in full colour.

_Black dog turned to gray wolf and laughed, lolling his tongue in happiness._

_"Miss you." _It was more a sense of a loss than actual words and the dreamer remained unsure if the sentiment was from him or the dog.

_A nuzzle, a lick. A soft, contented grunt._

_"Run with me, Moony."_

_"You're gone. Dead." _Sharp pain ripped through his chest, the loss totally overwhelming the dreamer.

_"No. Not dead. I just fell." And the dog slowly, insidiously slid into the earth, sucked under, and the gray wolf howled, howled. Howled. HOWLED._

"Agghhh!" Remus screamed as he escaped from the dream; tore himself from the terrible reminder and pain. He thrashed amongst his blankets, tangled and winded until he finally realised it was a nightmare. Just a dream.

"Sirius," he whispered into the dark side of midnight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**  
_"Are you lost or incomplete?  
Do you feel like a puzzle you can't find your missing piece?"  
__Coldplay – Talk_

"Draco!" Gregory Goyle's gravelly voice was full of warmth. He almost skipped up to his old classmate as he saw the blond approaching his house. "It's great to see you. Thought you were still in France, though. What're ya doing in Germany?"

"I came for a visit. How are you, Greg?" Draco offered a small, nicely wrapped gift to the larger man. "Oh, and Happy Christmas."

Greg took the present, looking at it with some remorse. "I don't got nuthin' for you."

"Well, since I didn't tell you I was coming, I can understand why. May I come in?"

"Oh. Sure," he said with a grin.

Greg led Draco into a modest home that resided in a small town along the Rhine River near the Mosel River Valley. They had been in touch through the years, so Draco knew how to find Greg, but this was his first visit. After the fall of Voldemort, Greg ran to Germany and Draco kept that secret caged behind occluded walls. Greg wasn't a bad guy, he just got caught up in the same maelstrom that Draco did, following in their fathers' footsteps.

As the men walked through the house, they came upon a short woman busying herself in the kitchen; mixing bowl in one hand, wooden spoon in the other. "'Peia, this is my old friend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is my wife, Cassiopeia."

The woman scrutinized Draco. "Are you that man Gregory got into trouble with at school?" She had a thick German accent that seemed to heighten her displeasure at whatever 'trouble' she might be aware of.

"Greg and I went to school together." He glanced over at Greg, who looked a little sad. "We did get into a fair amount of mischief, as boys do," he offered with a warm grin.

"You better not be here to get him into trouble. Gregory doesn't mess with any dark wizards." She brandished her heavy, wooden spoon, waving it threateningly at Draco. "You will not get my Gregory into trouble."

Not used to being scolded by vicious young women, let alone one who obviously held a lower social standing than himself, Draco's immediate response was to scoff at the fraulein and let loose some scathing remark that would remind her of her place. But then Greg was his friend, one of the few ties he had left to his childhood and he didn't want to alienate him. So he did the next best thing. He charmed her.

"Of course I have no intention to get Greg into trouble. Please, don't worry yourself, Cassiopeia. I merely missed an old schoolmate and wanted to catch up. The holidays always remind me of the value of old friends. Perhaps we can all go out to dinner and talk about how the last few years have unfolded."

Gregory looked sublimely relieved.

* * *

They ate dinner at a homey little restaurant sitting below the residence of the establishment's owners. It offered a mix of local cuisine and Chinese. Draco had thought it a rather laughable combination, but eventually admitted a glass of good Riesling went surprisingly well with Kung Pao chicken.

Draco won over Cassiopeia during dinner and as the meal came to a close, she left the boys alone to walk the snow covered, darkened streets. She did so without any apparent unease that Draco might lead her sweet Gregory into any misadventures.

"So, how's your club going? The wizards 'round this small burg even talk 'bout it sometimes."

"Rain has out performed itself. I am quite happy with its growing popularity."

"Always knew you would make it."

"Thanks, Greg. It's good to see you made it, too." He smiled at his old friend without any condescension or superiority. "Cassiopeia is perfect for you."

Greg grinned, "She is, isn't she. How 'bout you? Any ladies waiting for ya back in England?"

"Ah, no." He looked at Greg, amused.

"So, it ain't just a phase?"

Draco laughed. It came out pure and honest. Greg soon joined in. "Definitely not a phase. But no lover out there either. Too busy with the club… and other things. Which is one of the reasons I came to visit."

"I doubted this was just a social call."

"Yes, well…" he shrugged apologetically. "I need to know if there is any new activity."

Visibly stiffening, Greg glanced around the empty street, apparently aghast that Draco would ask such a question out there in the open for the apparently hidden masses to overhear and immediate draw specific conclusions from. "Draco, I don't think..." He stopped speaking and pulled his wool cloak closer around him.

"Gregory, please," Draco quietly interrupted. "Something is happening and I need to know if our old organization might be rallying for any reason."

With a strained look upon his face, Greg grabbed Draco's elbow and lead him up through the streets, eventually climbing a snowy hillside of barren grapevines with the little town laid along the river at their feet.

"Okay, now we can talk."

Draco looked out at the view, amused at how far they had to climb up the hill. Then he turned to Greg. "You remember how I was passing messages to the Order?" Draco asked. Greg nodded. During their time with the Death Eaters, Gregory didn't know that Draco had turned traitor. It all came to light after Greg ran and Draco stayed, covering his friend's tracks for him. Vincent had fallen in a skirmish before the final battle and losing him had left Greg with less loyalty towards the Death Eaters and more interest in living. Through the past few years little pieces of information had finally fallen into place and Greg had figured out more of Draco's involvement. "Well," he continued, "someone recently contacted me through the same means. It was my old contact from the war and I was asked about some dark curse that seems to be spreading. Another of my contacts has told me that some ex-Death Eaters, either those who renounced the Dark Lord or those who didn't get caught, have been moving in concert again. Forces are gathering. And I finally learned that there have been planned attacks throughout England and Wales, though the public is kept blind to the fact. The Ministry is keeping a tight lid on this one. I only guess that all of these things are connected. Do you know anything?"

Greg swallowed and finally nodded, his deep set eyes making him seem even more regretful. "Don't tell 'Peia. But yea, I have been contacted. I turned them away, told 'em I wasn't joining no new society. But you're right. Something is happening. I don't have any more info for ya though."

"Any idea who lies behind all of it?"

Greg quickly shook his head.

"Can you find out who?"

"Draco," Greg whinged, the tone sounding alien in his deep voice, "I can't do that."

"It's important Greg. We didn't want to follow one Dark Lord to his end; I certainly don't want to follow another. We need more information. Perhaps it is nothing, but I just don't think it is. Too much activity.

"What do you know?"

"Only what I told you, really. I would know more if I didn't have a hot headed ex-Auror to deal with." He huffed. "I might have to play nice to get more information." Gregory looked at him quizzically. "Harry Potter." Draco informed him.

"Ew, I'm sorry 'bout that." Greg said.

"Yes, well, he has more information but it's all in that code I used during the war. He can't read it and I can't get to it without him letting me have it."

"What's it doing in the code from the war and why's he have it?"

"My contact, the one Severus and I were talking with in the Order; that was Hermione Granger."

Greg's jaw dropped. "Merlin's balls! You're pulling my leg, Draco."

"I didn't find out until recently, myself. That was quite the little introduction. Someone approached her about the curse--apparently they turned down a certain request to meet a few of our old pals too--and Granger had been studying it. She asked to meet with me to see if I had any information or knew of any new organization rising. But then she got herself cursed—in my back alley—and all of her notes concerning her research are in that code under protection by Potter. So, as you can see, I need your help. Anything else that you can find would be invaluable. If it turns out to be nothing, then we only wasted time. But the signs are there, Greg. I fear a new power has started its machinations."

"'Peia's going to kill me," he groaned.

Draco laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She won't find out."

"Oh yes. She will," he said with complete sureness, "But I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, Greg. I owe you."

"Consider this payback," Greg said.

"No such thing amongst friends."

* * *

Harry stood before the full-length mirror, recently transfigured out of a smaller one that usually hung from his wall. He pulled at a cuff and straightened the collar of his dress robes, deep burgundy with silver threading.

Hermione had picked them out for him. It wasn't that he was clueless about fashion or didn't know how to look good; he just knew she had a knack for finding just the right colour and cut to really suit him and for any of these formal galas, he always wore something of her choosing.

She usually went with him and Ron, but this year they would both be going stag. Well, they were going together, but it wasn't that sort of a date. Still, the trio, the unbreakable three, was now only two and Harry didn't know quite how to deal with that.

He really didn't want to go.

You would think that after four years they would quit requesting his appearance at these Ministry events. Kingsley, of course, would be there. He usually saved Harry from any speeches other than a quick toast to Dumbledore and all of those who had fallen. At least the Christmas Gala always had a reasonable band and strong drinks and it developed into one of the social events he could tolerate.

With one last quick look at himself in the mirror, an unsuccessful attempt to pat down his hair and a booster jolt of magic to his Eyesight Charm, he left his flat for the party.

* * *

He slipped in quietly, trying to avoid the attention of any reporters or general admirers who hadn't quite accepted that Harry Potter, Boy Savior of the World, was now a man who didn't want people to harass him for autographs or hear just how amazing they thought he really was. It took little time to find Ron, who has hanging out at his favourite spot. The bar.

But this time his friend wasn't holding his usual glass of firewhiskey. He had a mug of hot butterbeer instead.

"Technically," Ron explained, "I am still 'on duty'." With an apologetic look, he continued, "I tried to get out of coming after I found out they weren't actually giving me leave, but they insisted I show up. And I know Dad would have wanted me to."

Harry ordered his own butterbeer, not feeling like drowning in drink alone and lifted it into the air. "To Arthur."

"Yea, to dad," Ron replied dully and took a sip from his mug. "And Seamus, and Tonks and all the rest."

Harry swallowed down the drink, abnormally bitter through the ball of guilt in his chest as Ron listed off the names.

The two men found a table crammed into one corner behind a decorated tree and sat there, eyes scanning the ever-growing crowd mingling under the bright Christmas decorations of the Ministry ballroom.

"So, how was Hogwarts?" Ron asked after an apparently unsatisfactory sip of his drink. He started poking his wand at an elf-shaped ornament that dangled in front of his nose and the ornament wriggled in delight, kicking its little glass feet into the air.

"You know—it just isn't the same without all of the old professors. Hooch isn't even there, did you know that? She retired last year. Off to Acapulco or some other tropical getaway. Imagine, Hooch in a bikini!" Ron shivered and grimaced, giving Harry the impression that Ron would rather eat slugs again than focus on that imagery. "McGonagall is looking to retire and is searching for a replacement, too. But Pince, she's still there and still as crotchety as ever. It was a relief actually. When she threatened to throw me out, I knew it really was Hogwarts and not an empty ghost." He drank down the rest of his butterbeer.

"But I didn't find anything. Even after three days. That library doesn't have anything on such a curse. Nothing that fit what happened to Hermione anyway. Plenty on other dark curses though," he said with a cold chill. "I'm just no good at this research stuff." He set his mug down a little too hard on the table. "I guess I should find out about this Arbormore at Cairo or who Hexine might be. Do you know a Hexine?" Harry asked and Ron shook his head.

They continued to sit in silence as more and more people filled up the grand room, all dressed up in their finery, excited to be a part of the celebration of the year. Some wore the newest fashions from the continent and others were dressed in tried and true British wizarding outfits that were good enough for their parents so they must be good enough for them. Harry especially liked Madame Edgecombe's huge hat covered in oak leaves and acorns, complete with festive tinsel and stuffed robin. They recognized many faces and were saddened more by those who were missing from the crowd.

"Oh look," Ron said. "There's Pansy Parkinson and who's that guy she's with?" Harry shrugged. It had become a game of theirs in the past to try to piece together everyone else's lives just by what they could glean from these regular events. Harry never really cared for it and honestly it was Hermione who knew anything about these people. But both he and Ron needed some sense of normality so he decided to join in.

"I bet he's that emissary from the Lebanese Wizard's Guild."

Ron gave him a quizzical look, but soon played along. "Oh, you mean the one that breeds more dark wizards than even Slytherin House? Or maybe he was shipped here by Parkinson's dad, just trying to marry her off to someone who could stand the extra pounds she packed on." He laughed, but it soon died without any real amusement to it.

"I can't do it."

"Me either." Harry went to take a long swig until he realised his glass was empty.

"I'll get it." Ron stood and strode towards the bar, his long legs taking him easily through the crowd. A few heads followed him as he emerged from the poorly lit corner tucked behind the tree. The stares followed Ron's path back to its origin and found Harry.

A small sigh broke free as people started bee lining towards him, following Ron returning with two tumblers of whiskey.

"Breaking out the hard stuff?" Harry asked, standing to prepare himself for the onslaught of questions and handshakes.

"Can't do this without it, screw 'on duty'," and Ron downed the glass in three gulps. "I should be in Mexico anyway." Harry decided to nurse his, but almost rethought that plan as Rita Skeeter's heady perfume assailed his nose followed by her ingratiating whinge.

"Harry Potter, so nice to see you here today." Harry turned towards the reporter gripping her green Quick-Quotes Quill. She smiled brightly at him, but he did not return the favour.

"So, Harry, can you tell the people why you quit the Auror Division and what exactly is your next step? Rumors are flying and isn't it better to get it all out in the open? Hmm? Are you planning on going into private investigation? Perhaps following through with that Seeker opportunity you so brutally threw away when you were young and impulsive? And with young Hermione Granger laid out, are you lonely, looking for someone new to grace your arm? And Mr. Weasley, isn't it true that you're still on duty?" Her eyebrows rose disapprovingly at the empty glass in his hands.

Ron's own expression of _where the hell does this woman find this shite out_ was so striking that Harry almost lost it, spewing liquor out of his nose, if it wasn't for the anger the woman always knew how to brew within him.

"Get away from me, Skeeter. Come on, Ron." Harry left the corner and entered the milling crowd.

"Harry, are you just going to take that from her?" Ron's face was red with fury.

"Harry," Rita Skeeter called out. "Remember, our readers have the right to know the truth. They want to know about _you_, Harry."

Ron brusquely pushed past the nosy reporter to catch up with Harry, who was quickly accosted by a throng of well wishers.

"Harry, so good to see you." "Will you be speaking tonight, Mr. Potter?" "Sir, sir, can I have your autograph?" "Mr. Potter, one moment if you please." And then Harry was gripped by the arm and pulled to one side by Kingsley.

"Oh Merlin, thank you Kingsley." Harry let out a breath, relieved to have Kingsley on one side of him and Ron on the other like a protective vanguard.

"Gotta save you from those vicious lions out there. Merlin knows you appear to be quite helpless on your own." Kingsley laughed. "Listen, Harry, I know you hate this, but could you…" he inclined his head towards the podium at the front of the room, "give your toast?"

"Yea, sure, but then I'm getting outta here. Okay?" Kingsley nodded and Harry walked up towards the front of the ballroom as a silent anticipation descended upon the crowd.

As he took his place behind the speaker's stand and lifted up his mostly empty glass, he scanned the mass of people. Wizards and witches from all over, from all generations, looked up at him, most with awe, some with a less enthusiastic response, only a few with disdain, or at least only a few who would openly show their disdain. All had eyes on him.

Harry tapped his throat with his wand so the whole assembly of revellers could hear his every word, as uninspired as Harry felt they were.

"To Albus Dumbledore. And to all those who had fallen and sacrificed for this time of peace we now live in. We honour you." And as he lifted his glass, the entire room mirrored his words, praising those who died, those who had given of themselves. It was a robotic event, full of habit and little meaning. After everyone drank the gathering cheered "Harry Potter, Harry Potter" until Harry turned and stepped down from the podium, only to be stopped short by Minister Scrimgeour.

"Mr. Potter. Thank you for the toast," Rufus Scrimgeour said pleasantly, but Harry stiffened anyway. The Minister always put him on edge, ever since he cornered him at the Weasley's during Christmas of his sixth year at Hogwarts.

"So, I've heard you quit the Aurors. Decided on something new, have you?" he asked, peering at Harry. "What could have dragged you away from being an Auror?" he wondered.

Harry stared out over the crowd, noticing a few glances from Ron and Kingsley as they talked quietly amongst themselves, giving Harry some privacy with the Minister. "Well, you left the Aurors at one time too, sir."

The Minister laughed. "Going into politics?"

"Oh, no." Harry shook his head quickly. "I have no desire for politics. I have no desire to be a figurehead for anything." He gave Scrimgeour a look he hoped the older man would understand. They had had this conversation before, and Harry really didn't want to be a rallying point for any politician.

"I know, I know my boy." And with that, Scrimgeour patted Harry's shoulder and shook his right hand.

Then Harry's world went dull. It seemed time slowed and his vision faded, all colour draining out of the once bright reds, golds and greens decorating the great hall. Sound was dampened to nothing but a faint murmur, easily ignored and forgotten. The sensation seemed endless. Finally, Harry floated out of the trance.

"…you for giving your speech. I know we haven't always been on best terms, but hopefully we can move past that." Minister Scrimgeour dropped his hand and went to address the gathering people. Harry stood there dumb, watching after the retreating man.

"Harry, you okay?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, mind racing at what just happened, needing to get away from the crowd and the noise. "Ron, I gotta go. Going to go through more of Hermione's papers." He offered as an excuse, running his fingers through his hair, maddening his already wild style.

"I'll go with you."

"No you won't, Mr. Weasley. You're on duty," interjected Kingsley.

"Mr. Weasley?" Ron questioned, looking betrayed.

"And no more drinking!" the Chief Auror said as he took the glass from Ron's hand and went to stand by the Minister's side at the podium. Harry heard Kingsley chuckle and would have laughed too if he wasn't already apprehensive about the Minister's handshake.

"Man, where'd that come from?" Ron whimpered.

"I bet he just doesn't want to be stuck here by himself," Harry guessed, mind still a million miles away. "Sorry mate, meet me at Hermione's when you can, okay."

"Yea, sure," and Ron sulked back to his little corner, alone.

* * *

The moment Harry Apparated into Hermione's flat he knew something was off, wrong. Someone was there. Sure as Ron had freckles someone had broken into Hermione's quarters, past her wards, past _Hermione's_ wards, and this sent chills up his spine. He quickly drew his wand, casting a few wordless shielding and detection spells and finally sent his consciousness _out_ and he sensed it. Somebody laid in wait in the kitchen.

Silently, Cat-footed Charm in place, Harry took slow step after step towards the kitchen, easily walking through the familiar, yet darkened apartment. His _feelers,_ as Hermione dubbed them soon after the destruction of the sixth Horcrux, kept aware of the intruder, knowing every action made and what active spells sheathed the trespasser.

However, he could sense no spells active. Nothing.

The hidden individual took a step, as silent as Harry's own but without aid from any spell.

Ready to throw a disarming hex at the trespasser, Harry was caught off guard by an aristocratic voice calling from the dark.

"Before you accidentally shoot your wand off and do me ill, Potter, how about we just come out and discuss matters." The darkness immediately lifted and Harry's eyes squinted at the sudden light. As his sight cleared, Draco Malfoy walked out of Hermione's kitchen.

"How the hell did you get in here, Malfoy?" he demanded, angry at the man that came sharply into sight. With his wand pointed at the centre of Malfoy's chest, he made a sterling attempt to make sense of it all. "_Why_ are you here?"

* * *

It called to him again. It always called to him and the further he was away from it, the stronger its pull, its demand.

_Wizard._

It was like a caress, the softest touch from an eternal lover.

_Yes, _he would think outward as though he were speaking directly to the pale orb, his lovely jewel, like his mind was connected to it. _Yes_, he thought with yearning.

He struggled to keep his mind focused, on task, and he believed he did an admirable job. But all he really wanted to do was retreat to his safe place, the quiet haven where he could embrace his orb.

_Wizard._

It pulled at him again, but he couldn't leave the celebration. He needed to wait a little longer. The crowd mingled and danced to the music while he watched them, cataloging and assessing. More people must be brought over. Influential and powerful people. The strong.

He continued to observe from a corner, pushing away the niggling impulse to leave and run to his jewel. So many people on this festive night, celebrating Christmas, celebrating being _alive_. The survivors always were good at relishing what others didn't have. The people came and went, smiling at him in his resplendent robes, offering nods and cordial greetings. He would smile back, recognizing a multitude of faces, society's prominent. But the true power wasn't here. And he sensed it through the orb, his jewel, and he thirsted for that power and was eager for the promise it held for him.

_Yours wizard._

The time for testing was at an end. Time for action had begun


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**  
_"Remember how I made you crazy? Remember how I made you scream?"  
__Don Henley – Boys of Summer_

"Relax, Potter," Draco drawled. "I certainly am not here to attack you." He stood in the open, arms held away from his body proving he wielded nothing in his hand and had no means to attack or defend.

"You're a fool, Malfoy. I asked you a question. _What_ are you doing here?"

"I was waiting for you."

"How'd you break Hermione's wards?"

"Well, I admit it took a little effort, but it really wasn't that much of a challenge."

Harry growled at Draco's pompous attitude. "And imagine this; you, out of your little domain without your minion. Impressive. A rat in open water. Better watch out for sharks," he ended menacingly.

"Oh, I've no worries. Only guppies here. Potter, why don't we quit with the badly veiled threats and confer like mature adults, or are you incapable of that?" Draco scolded, causing Harry to clamp his mouth closed before he spat out more invective.

With a shudder, he realised Draco had a point. "Fine. We'll talk. Why are you here?"

"Care to point that thing elsewhere?" Draco asked, keen eyes darting toward the tip of Harry's wand.

Harry sighed, pointing his wand towards the floor; well slightly more towards the floor, anyway. The small chuckle that escaped from his adversary's lips came so unexpectedly Harry couldn't hide his shock.

"Well, I guess that will do," Draco said, in an almost friendly tone, at least a tone that didn't suggest Harry was something Draco found on the bottom of his shoe. Harry's jaw dropped open, a furrow of concern burrowing between his eyes.

Draco laughed.

Continuing to stare, Harry felt totally unsure how to deal with this almost cordial man in front of him. He wondered what exactly Draco had up his sleeve and it put him on higher alert than a snarling Draco would have any day. Harry decided that Draco Malfoy seemed far too amused by the situation, so resolved to take this bull by the horns.

"Are you going to tell me how to decode the rest of Hermione's messages or are we going to continue wasting time?"

Draco pulled his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against the wall, a half quirk to his lips. "Yes, wasting time… You think about that Debt, then?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, a snarl marring his own lips as he addressed his adversary. "Yeah… you want me to owe you big for helping me find out what happened to Hermione." Draco shrugged one shoulder. "Malfoy, why don't you just tell me what you want?"

"I'll know it when it strikes my fancy, Potter. No need to rush things."

"No need to rush things?" Harry exploded. "You show up at Hermione's hospital room pushing this Debt in my face, offering me a deciphered scroll then walking out. You show up here, asking about that damned Debt again. _What the hell do you want?_ You sure as fuck don't act like there's no need to rush whatever twisted agenda you have in the works."

A tingle of magic zapped through the air as if the entire room was cast in a halo of static electricity. All of the hairs on Harry's arms lifted, his mop of a hair style frizzing to new heights as his anger stoked and his gaze bore into Draco, trying to read his soul. But to Harry's perception it looked like Draco meant no wickedness. Mischievousness sure, but he got the feeling that maybe this time, Draco was playing fair. Well as fair as he could.

Harry immediately deflated.

With his wand slowly lowering to his side, his heart sunk too as he realised that there was no winning against Draco Malfoy when it came to conniving and manipulating and the only way he could win this game was to charge through with determination and his integrity.

"Fine, I'll owe you, but not _carte blanche_. I won't do anything that will undermine my ethics. Got it? You won't turn me into you."

"Oh, Potter, what makes you think I would ever request anything of you that would dirty your little hands."

"You're a Slytherin… and a Malfoy."

"Good point, but you have my word." He walked forward, lifting his wand towards Harry. "Harry Potter owes Draco Malfoy some favour equivalent to saving the life of Hermione Granger. He will not be required to perform any act that he deems too unscrupulous or that violates his sense of ethic." He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

It seemed fair. Harry quickly tried to rifle through the pros and cons (mainly owing Draco) of this situation but the vow was so vague and he seemed to have an out for any request too nasty, so he decided to complete the spell. How could he not if this was his one chance to help Hermione? Didn't he owe it to her to do anything in his power? He lifted his own wand and touched the tip to Draco's as a small burst of crimson flame tickled the joined ends. "I do so agree." And then as an afterthought, "so long as Hermione's life is returned to normal, I do so owe Draco Malfoy." A small puff of blue smoke replaced that of the crimson flame and the minor vow was complete.

"Well then," Draco said as he tucked his wand away and removed his outer cloak, "shall we get started?"

* * *

After an hour of more arguments, scathing insults and stiff moments of silence, the two settled down around Hermione's large desk, foraging through piles of scrolls, papers and parchments all covered with the enigmatic code. Each hosting a simple algebraic equation in the bottom corner of the text. After three more hours there emerged two piles: one pile, perhaps containing a dozen or so pieces, included the scrolls Draco could immediately translate, the other pile, enormous in proportion, remained unreadable.

"Malfoy, I thought you said you could decipher Hermione's code. Why can you only decipher these?" He flipped through the documents, trying to see how the code from one pile seemed any different from those on the pages of the other pile.

"Well, Potter, I could decipher them all if I had the key. Apparently you don't seem to have a clue about that, so these are the ones where I actually remember what the key was."

"What is this key?"

Draco sighed wearily as if a huge burden was placed on him. "Severus and I had an _obscuroused_ book that listed them. Only he and I could read it. It involves the solution, or potential solution, to the equation in the corner. Initially I worked a few out, but then after Severus figured out I cracked the code and hadn't taken it to Voldemort, he brought me in. So I would assume Hermione's key is somewhere around here, hidden in plain view. The key connects the equation to the actual spell that translates the code."

"_You_ broke Hermione's code?" he questioned incredulously.

Draco made some indistinguishable noise. "Yes, I did."

Harry decided rather than flame this ego any larger than it already was, to just move on. "So, the key's a book? Where did yours go?"

"Lost when you destroyed Voldemort's headquarters. Proving, by the way, that subtlety has never been your strong point. Most of us escaped the inferno, but much was lost. I suppose in the long run that proved a good thing. The Dark Lord's experiments were lost too." Harry watched him to see if he would notice the slip of the old name. Apparently he didn't.

Harry didn't want to think about that battle. He didn't want to think about any of the battles. He had to confess though, that the attack on the Death Eater command centre could have been planned better. "We didn't warn you?" he asked, concerned. He knew that Snape had survived and figured they had informed him of the surprise air strike.

The other man snorted. "Even if you had, Severus and I could not have left without drawing attention to ourselves. I am guessing that Granger understood that… Though, as I recall that last message, I think she did attempt to warn us in her own way. We just didn't realise what she was trying to do." He seemed thoughtful.

Harry pulled himself back from those unwanted memories to focus on the task at hand. He scanned the miles of books neatly categorized away within Hermione's flat and moaned at the daunting task. "How do we know which book?"

"Do I have to do everything for you, Potter? You _must_ know whatever spell Granger might have used to hide something of such importance. And anyway, it doesn't have to be a book, it could be anything. Something transfigured even."

Pain and worry latched onto him like a niffler to a galleon as Harry realised that he really had no idea what spell she might have used to hide such an object, let alone what the key might be hidden as. He rose and stood before the closest bookshelf. Running a finger along the spines of the books, causing some of them to purr in delight and others to shudder in disgust, he finally settled on one book.

This had to be it. It could be no other book.

He picked up the well-read copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and ran an analytic collection of spells over it, casting detecting magic, revealing spells, magic suppression and an array of other spells to no definitive answer. The book simply was just a book, at least to anything Harry could sense, and if Harry couldn't sense anything odd about it, he trusted that the text was under no magical sway.

Frustrated, he moved to the centre of the room and sent out his _feelers_. Like thin, long tentacles, they invisibly slithered over the room, through the bookcases, over the furniture and into the walls of the flat. His eyes were closed and his breath came in deep, slow measure. When he found a magical signature he focused, concentrated his efforts until he either understood the magic or tagged it for further research. Finally, he pulled back his consciousness, his magical bloodhounds returning home, and opened his eyes to a dumbfounded blond.

"What the hell…" Draco sputtered before he collected himself and his mask of indifference slipped into place. He didn't take his eyes off of Harry as the powerful wizard began creating a small heap of random objects in the centre of the living room. Harry would go to one bookcase, grab a book and place it in the pile, then add a clock that was on the mantel, then fetch what looked like a toaster from the kitchen and added that as well.

After the construction of the mound appeared to be finished, Harry looked to Draco. "Well, not sure what these things do." He gestured to the jumble and shrugged. "Maybe it's one of these."

Sitting on the floor next to the pile he picked up one item after another, casting spell after spell on them to determine their function. A thin, arched disk, deep red and highly polished, was the next item to examine when Draco finally spoke up.

"That's a Salamander Chip."

"A what?" Harry traced the warped concentric circles on the disk with the tip of one finger. They reminded him of rings in the wood of a tree. It warmed to his touch.

"Oh, Potter, do tell me you know what a Salamander Chip is. A Sally Chip?"

Harry shook his head, confused.

"'If your bed's too cold just slip a Sally under the covers.'" Draco sounded like he was quoting some advert or slogan, even adding a little singsong to the end.

"Still not getting it," he admitted.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake. It's a bed warmer, Potter. You stick the Salamander Chip under your bedsheets on cold nights. Every old wizarding household has them." He sniffed, almost aghast at Harry's ignorance. "New ones are illegal to create, some idiocy about some salamander species disappearing. Every suite in the Manor had one." He stared off into space for a while, eyes unfocusing as a strange look Harry might almost akin to thoughtfulness appeared on his face. It transfixed Harry. Could Draco be a real person? Not simply some being sent to test his patience by some trickster god? "But none of that matters much now, does it. They're all gone along with the portraits, the artefacts, the library… the Manor." Draco turned away and looked out into the night through the frosted window.

"Why would Hermione have something like this?" Harry flipped the small scale between his fingers like a poker chip.

"Well it certainly is a useful little item. I'm impressed Hermione learned to embrace life's little conveniences. Smart girl."

"Did you just compliment Hermione?"

"Well she is trying to learn about a superior culture. You must commend her for that."

"Malfoy," Harry warned.

"Oh Potter, do stop treating me like an errant schoolboy. I certainly had enough of that from McGonagall. Anyway, perhaps she wants to embrace the world she exists in, wants to know more about its everyday wonders instead of just learning how to be a servant of war." Draco sat down in a high-backed chair across from where Harry sat on the floor surrounded by the sundry of magical knickknacks.

"Wha… Malfoy, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Always so quick to lash out, Potter. Perhaps you need counseling. What I mean is that you don't even know about basic household charms and utilities. You focused so much time learning how to kill the Dark L…" he stopped this time and cleared his throat with a small smile, "Voldemort, that you don't even know about laundry charms or –" he looked around and picked up the toaster impersonator.

"What do you think this does?" Draco asked Harry.

"I don't know… toasts bread."

Draco burst out laughing. "You really do have a lot to learn. If you care to. Or you can continue to wallow in your own Muggleness."

"There's nothing wrong with Muggles, Malfoy."

Draco stood from the chair and gathered up the papers in the 'can be decoded' pile. "Perhaps it is time I go and we can continue this little parley at some other time. And for the record, no, I don't like Muggles, but please be so kind as to remember whose side I worked for. I don't need persecution from the likes of you." With a small flourish, Draco bowed and Disapparated.

Left alone in the vacant air following Draco's Disapparition, Harry slowly turned the unknown metallic device over and over in his hands, wondering what it could possibly do.

* * *

"Ginny!"

Harry jumped from his usual chair, excited to see his old friend peek her head into the hospital room. Ginny had been down in Africa studying ancient wizarding culture and spells, a font of knowledge left mostly untouched by European scholars. Her hair fell long with fine layers of braids down the entire length, each with an earthen coloured bead at the end. They hadn't seen each other since she left England following the fall of Voldemort. In fact, she hadn't returned to England at all since then.

"Harry, sorry I couldn't come earlier." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and looked down at Hermione lying in her institutionally white room, wrapped up in her institutionally white blankets. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears-- for Hermione, her father, or him, Harry he wasn't quite sure.

"Oh, don't worry about it Ginny, there really isn't anything you can do. The Healers have no idea what could be wrong, other than it's a curse."

He watched her as she watched their comatose friend. The silence spread thin between them.

"So… how's Africa?" Harry asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Oh, fine really." She tore her eyes away from Hermione and looked up at him. "Oh Harry," she sniffed.

"Is there anything I can do?" he offered.

"No, I just… Oh… Things in Africa are great. I've been learning so much from the witches down there. I just… Oh I don't know. I guess I wasn't ready to come back here. I haven't been home yet. I just couldn't go there—" she broke off, stifling whatever breakdown pranced imminently on the edge.

Meaning to offer comfort, Harry crossed the room and took her in his arms, calmly soothing her, rubbing her back and repeating "I understand" or "It's okay" until her silent shivers ceased. But when she tilted her head towards him with that look in her eyes, he froze, unsure if he had the grace to pull out of this without hurting her.

Her soft lips brushed his causing his whole body to tense and after he felt the soft swipe of a tongue he knew he just couldn't sit back and allude that anything could ever happen between them.

With firm hands on her shoulders he slowly pushed her back. Her large eyes shone with unshed tears and embarrassment.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. Oh my god, how humiliating." She buried her face in her hands. "I just thought… Are you…" she exhaled a small breath, "with anyone?"

"No Ginny, I haven't had time for any _men_ in my life." He stressed the word 'men' and watched as she flinched, wells of regret bubbling over from them both as she looked back up to him. Never afraid to face danger. He wished he could love her that way.

"I'm sorry." With slumped shoulders her gaze fell down to the floor. "I should go."

"Ginny, don't go. Really… Hermione would want you here. I want you here. I'm sure your mum wants you back for as long as you can stay…" he trailed off, not sure what else to say. He wanted to scream and yell, not at her, but at their situation. He knew Ginny still cared for him when she left, but he had thought after all these years a childhood crush would have faded under the weight of true experience.

He hated hurting her.

She straightened her posture and wiped at her eyes. The smile she offered him was weak, but honest and he smiled back. "Thanks Harry. I want to go see mum, I really do. We talk often, you know. And I see Ron sometimes when he's out of the country— It's so hard. Do you know? Can you understand?"

Harry nodded, shocked. How could she think he didn't understand? "Yeah, Gin. I understand." He went to hug her again, but stopped short, unsure. She snorted at him and went to hug him, a short, sisterly hug. Perhaps things would be all right.

"Ah, look at the two lovebirds."

The unexpected visitor surprised the two embracing friends.

"Malfoy," Harry said. Startled, Ginny pulled away and stared at Draco, a fierce glint developing in her eye. Harry grinned at her; she always was a fighter.

"Potter, Weasley. If I'm disturbing something, I can certainly return at some later time." He had a leather attaché case hanging over one shoulder and a rolled up scroll held neatly in one hand. He turned to leave with an amused look.

"No, come in Malfoy," Harry said while Ginny gawked at Harry. "He's helping find out what happened with Hermione," he offered, knowing it would do nothing to appease his friend's curiosity.

"Malfoy is _helping_? Helping Hermione?"

"Yea, it's shocking isn't it," Harry said, stifling the urge to laugh. Draco just raised one finely sculpted eyebrow at them. "I'll be right back, okay Ginny? Let you have some time with Hermione. Talk to her. I like to think she can hear us."

Ginny nodded, watching as they left the hospital room.

* * *

"I didn't know you and the little Weasley chit were still so close, Potter. One moment comforting a broken friend, the next wooing lost love. It is pure romance. You're such the white knight."

"Shut it, Malfoy. What ya got?" He indicated the case and papers with a jerk of his chin.

"No small talk? My, my Potter, already past the niceties of social convention I see. Well, I must say I do approve. Let's get down to business. I have translated these papers. A whole bunch of unconnected gibberish, if you ask me." He handed the rolled up scroll he carried in his hand to Harry.

Draco watched as Harry read over the scroll. The Gryffindor was so open; every thought that went through his mind reflected on his face. With careful awareness, Draco immediately knew that the translation meant nothing to Harry either.

He handed over the case. "Within you will find the rest of the scrolls I translated. If you find the key or wish to discuss anything within these documents, contact me at Rain. I'll leave you to your girlfriend, then," he said with a snicker.

"She's not…" but Draco had already turned his back and was walking towards the Floo Centre, leaving Harry to let his words fall upon deaf ears.

* * *

For five days Harry stationed himself at Hermione's, just trying to make sense of the new information he'd received. His first order of business though was to reset all of Hermione's wards to allow only him, Ron and Hermione through. He hoped that with his expertise in this field of magic there would be no more unexpected visitors at the flat.

None of the documents really connected to any of the others. Draco had translated 14 of them and they ranged from more information about a curse she was researching to some shielding spellwork she was developing to, of all things, a shopping list of potions ingredients, albeit some stretched the definition of legal. One page was definitely some form of personal diary and Harry felt like he abused a bit of her trust by reading it. He never knew she quite felt that way about him in their early years in school. Luckily she found Ron to be far more endearing.

And then there was that surreal event at the Ministry Ball. What did that mean? He had mulled over the odd feeling of _dampening_, there really wasn't a better word for it, trying to discover what might have triggered it other than the Minister's handshake, but nothing became clear, even after he spent an evening on his roof, stargazing.

It was obvious to Harry that he needed to find our more before any of it would truly fall into place. He needed to find out that key and without Draco's help, he doubted he would ever find it. It wasn't _obscuroused_ or magically hidden in some other way, not within Hermione's home anyway. It was either locked up somewhere far away, and therefore probably lost forever to them, or hidden in plain view as Draco suggested earlier. But nothing jumped out at Harry. He needed a new set of eyes, someone who knew what he was looking for.

So finally, on Friday night, he decided to go to Rain to admit he couldn't do this alone.

And whether it was a lucky break or not, Ginny offered to go with him.

* * *

"So you need his help to find some key to decipher Hermione's notes about the curse that were in some cryptic code she developed during the war and Draco knows how to decipher them because he was a spy for the Order?" Ginny burst out in one breath as they stood outside within the neon glow of the nightclub's sign.

"Yep, pretty much." A gaggle of witches and wizards in their trendiest wizard and Muggle wear stood outside of the club, waiting to get in. Some stood sans warm outerwear, which Harry thought was ridiculous because it was early January. Not the warmest time of the year for England in the least. Lucky for them it wasn't raining.

"You sure you want to wear that?" she asked for the third time that night.

"Well, I'm not here to go dancing, Ginny." Ginny was wearing a very flattering pleated skirt and low cut blouse with some African jewelry that accentuated her hairstyle and her cleavage. She looked quite lovely; Harry could admit that even if it did little for his hormones. He was wearing faded black jeans and an emerald green T-shirt. The only attention he paid to his appearance was to spell his hair to behave, falling just right to hide his scars.

They both wore waterproofed outer cloaks, at Harry's insistence.

"Well, might as well make the best of it." She'd been very 'good' with Harry after their initial meeting, but a tension still remained between them. She told him she had met with her mum and they apparently had a healthy, long talk. Some of the issues she had bottled up seemed to have bubbled to the surface and she faced the raging pain when before she had only run. But Harry knew losing a family member wasn't something you faced and recovered from in only a few days.

She told him she still loved him, which broke his heart, but she knew it wasn't his fault or her fault or anyone's fault and she always wanted to remain his friend. She would find someone new, someday, though she admitted she had been waiting for him, ignoring other men's advances all together.

Harry didn't quite know how to relate to that, but offered his friendship and his arm as they walked up to the bouncer to enter the packed wizarding club. They were immediately escorted in after whispering to the bouncer his identity. Others standing in line gawked to see who it was who entered Rain with such ease. Harry tried to hide behind Ginny, who stood almost a half foot shorter than he.

"It's so great knowing you, Harry," she said dramatically, if quietly. "Don't have to wait through lines when you hang out with the Hero of…"

"Oh please, do stop," he interrupted as she giggled at him. Her laugh was cut short as she soaked up the ambiance of the club and let out a little noise of awe.

"Wow. This place is amazing."

"If you say so."

"I do," she insisted. "Well, have a good talk with Malfoy. I'm gunna go and get a drink, don't leave without me!" She waved as she easily left him behind. He looked after her with a warm feeling in his heart and silently wished her the best.

But he wasn't here for drinks or hanging out with Ginny. Business called and he scanned the crowd for either Draco or his gorilla bodyguard. It was Bledsoe he saw first.

"Hello, Mr. Bledsoe," Harry said politely.

The huge wizard looked down at Harry, eyes narrowing as they saw the man who could crack walls with a slip of his temper. "Mr. Potter," he said in his deep voice, adding a slight nod.

"I'm looking for Mr. Malfoy. He should be expecting me."

"I will inform him you've arrived. He's currently engaged. Please enjoy the club until he has finished with business."

With no expectations that arguing would get him anywhere, Harry turned back to the main club and surveyed the crowd. The dance floor was packed, the music roared and the beat commanded the bodies to move. He spotted Ginny chatting with someone he remembered from school, a few years ahead of them. What was his name, McNealy, McPhearson? Wasn't he a bit old for Ginny?

He watched them a little while longer and since Ginny seemed to be enjoying herself he decided not to play … what, jealous boyfriend? Protective brother? He better cool it or he might send mixed signals.

Grabbing a whiskey sour he found a tiny table in the back of the club and sat to sip his drink under a hovering blue light. Not five minutes passed before a hot, tall brunette stepped within the pale blue glow and smiled. Harry let his eyes run over the other man's body and felt himself smile back.

It was an odd mystery of the universe: Gaydar. Hermione had told him all about it and it amused him to no end. He certainly had no such internal sense of someone's sexual preference. He had to do it the old fashioned way. Either blatantly eyeball them or start up a little chat and see where conversation led. And apparently he was either sending out 'gay vibes' or this guy was definitely ballsy.

"Hey," said the brunette. "Haven't seen you here before."

"Don't come here." Harry scanned the crowd and noticed quite a few same sex couples in the club.

"Too bad. I need more hot men to dance with." His eyes roved over Harry's body appraisingly.

"Don't dance," Harry offered, faintly blushing at the compliment. "Plus, there appears to be quite a collection to choose from."

The brunette carelessly waved his hand at the crowd, as if to suggest they were all insignificant, like last year's automobile models. "You don't dance? Now that's a shame. Doesn't take much, just feel the beat in your bones and let it control you." The other man slipped into a seat. He smiled, sharp and brilliant, causing Harry to want to smile back.

"I like to stay in control." Harry took a sip of his drink.

"Sometimes it is nice to just let loose. I'm Aiden."

"Harry."

Two more drinks later and an endless stream of lively conversation from Quidditch to the dating scene to music, Aiden finally dragged a protesting Harry out onto the dance floor. Harry noticed Ginny out there dancing with McPhearson or McLaughlin or whoever he was. She didn't appear to notice him.

"Are you checking out that pretty redhead?" a seductive whisper asked. Aiden was close, Harry could feel every ridge and plane of the other man's body and he arched into it. Hell, it'd been a long time.

"Ah no, she's a friend. Just making sure she's okay."

"She's a big girl, I'm sure she can take care of herself."

Remembering Ginny training for war, taking out Death Eaters in the final battle, he acknowledged that she certainly could.

The beat was strong and the music demanded bodies to writhe and contour around each other, hugging tightly like a fine set of leather trousers. Harry and Aiden danced close, groin to thigh as hips undulated to the pounding base of the techno song. Aiden's hand was on Harry's back in a way that was possessive, but not controlling and Harry absently wondered if he was a top or a bottom before he felt a hard tap on his shoulder.

"I would ask to cut in, but unfortunately we have business to discuss."

Harry immediately jumped away from Aiden as he looked over to those piercing, gray eyes. The usual cool façade burned away by an inner fire that sent an unexpected spark down Harry's spine.

"Malfoy," he said, unsure if he should be embarrassed or annoyed.

"We can meet at a later date if you would prefer," he sneered, taking Harry aback.

"No. I want to talk with you now. Just a sec, okay."

He turned back to Aiden, who was watching the exchange with interest. "It was a pleasure, maybe if you're arou…"

But Harry was interrupted, "I don't wait 'just a sec', if you want to talk, we talk now." And Draco turned away, walking towards the office hallway.

"Go on, seems your boyfriend's the jealous type," Aiden said.

"My what? Oh no, you got that wrong." But it was too late to explain; the hot guy, the most action Harry had got in months, walked off as Harry watched on in lament.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**  
_"Unbidden shadows of you formed yesterday"  
__Delerium – Poem of Byzantium_

From his vantage point Draco could survey the entire dance floor, haloed in soft azure, the hue of the Mediterranean Sea. His kingdom. He enjoyed watching the people. It gave him a sense of dominion, of power. To know that these people relinquished control because of his club. It was heady.

_Perhaps I do have a little bit of a voyeurism kink_; he laughed at himself as he continued to watch the dancing masses.

So, like most nights, he scanned the crowd prior to descending the stairs. The clothed orgy—as he dubbed it—thronged in full swing. Bodies entwined together in an ancient ritual of courtship, men and women and their sacred mating dance. It enticed a small smile from his usually placid countenance. His eyes darted from couple to couple, sometimes watching a threesome performing intricate manoeuvres, until they fell on the last thing he ever expected to see. Harry Potter dancing. With a man. A dance that dripped with sex, causing Draco's blood to heat up and—surprisingly enough—eliciting a response of raw jealousy.

He knew Harry's dance partner; he was a regular at the club, picking up a new guy each weekend. He'd seen the man dance before and admired his smooth skills, the way his hips would grind, how he always kept eye contact with his partner as if he were the only guy in the club. That man always found someone to dance with and they always left the club together.

In a way Draco, who hadn't had a proper date in what felt like years, hated him.

But Potter? This man surely used his wicked sexual powers for evil if he could get Harry out on the dance floor, grinding like that, apparently having… fun.

Harry Potter had to be the straightest man Draco knew. And he certainly never had fun.

Before he fully realised that his feet had made any decisions to move, Draco found himself in the centre of the dance floor standing next to the vertical sex happening right before his eyes. His hand reached out without any direction from his brain and he thwaped Harry on the shoulder, causing the man to jump away from the hard chest and tight arse he'd been clinging to. Draco was unexpectedly relieved.

"I would ask to cut in, but unfortunately we have business to discuss." He scowled, eyes darkening like buried lies. Draco's brain tried fervently to take control of the matter, but something more commanding had commandeered his actions.

"Malfoy," Harry said, stating the obvious.

With a force of will, Draco tried to step back from the situation, give himself some time to review his unwanted reaction. "We can meet at a later date if you would prefer." Even to Draco's own ears he sounded petulant.

"No. I want to talk with you now. Just a sec, okay." The look on Harry's face seemed panicked, obviously off guard and Draco had a split second thought to give him that moment, but then pride welled up. Malfoys did not wait for other people. People waited for them.

Harry turned to blather something at the other man, who scrutinized Draco far more than should be expected. With an upsurge of annoyance, Draco said, "I don't wait 'just a sec', if you want to talk, we talk now," and he turned his back on the entire matter, leaving Harry to either follow or stay.

In a manner that might be undignified if he were not grace embodied, Draco swiftly moved through the crowd to the opposite side of the club, hoping the thankfully oblivious Gryffindor would remain behind for the blatant promise to get laid and not pursue him. He needed a moment to sort through the jumbled thoughts (Potter is _gay_?) and feelings (Potter _is _gay.) currently taking over his nervous system.

He never noticed a pair of very bright eyes watching him from behind the bar nor the delighted smile that developed on her lips.

_I am not attracted to Potter._ He had never even thought of Harry in such a way, let alone as a sexual creature at all, but watching him move on the dance floor, molding his own body to the tall brunette, his head thrown back in evident pleasure, opened doors in Draco's mind that he couldn't seem to close. He surreptitiously adjusted his trousers.

Shite, this didn't bode well.

"Draco, would you wait?" Harry called after him as he reached the base of the stairs. Draco took in a deep breath, schooled his features and turned to receive the flabbergasted wizard.

He noted that Harry's face burned a rather brilliant scarlet. This amused him. It was undeniably better to be amused by a flummoxed Gryffindor than dwell on his own uncertainty and misgivings.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Listen, I…" Harry ran his fingers through his hair, causing his black fringe to expose the crossed scars.

"Shall we discuss the paperwork?" Draco interrupted. He didn't care for any half mumbled explanation and truly loathed the possibility that Harry might be trying to apologize. He just wanted to get this over with so he could remove himself from the object of disturbance and _think_ about what it could possibly mean.

"Umm, yeah. Sure." Harry nodded and followed the blond through the halls to the back rooms.

Draco immediately sat himself behind his huge mahogany desk, a buffer of protection between him and Harry. Clearing his throat, he adopted his usual outward indifference.

"So, did you discover anything after reviewing the documents?"

Harry seemed a bit off balance, but took the proffered change of subject with grace. "Nah, not really. I couldn't piece anything together. Listen… did you read all of them?"

"Yes." Draco wondered if the man worried about Hermione's revealed amorous intentions towards a younger Harry.

"Oh." There was a pause and after Draco didn't add anything, Harry continued. "Well, I was hoping you could return to Hermione's and help me ransack her place for that key thingy." He watched as Harry fiddled with his wand.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Ransack?" he asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. "Well no other way to do it really. I have no idea where to start," he said dismally.

"Fine. When would you like to do this ransacking?" He kept his eyes on the twitching wizard across from him, wishing he could crawl inside that fevered brain and know what thoughts ticked within.

"Um, whenever you can, I guess. Tomorrow?" Harry abandoned the wand twiddling and moved to finger the edge of his T-shirt.

"I can meet you there tomorrow. Afternoon?"

"Yeah, sure." Harry ran his fingers through his hair again and Draco couldn't help but notice how soft it looked following the fluffing. He grumbled at himself.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing. Well if that's all, I do have other business to attend to tonight."

"Ah, thanks for meeting me." Harry stood, looking down at the floor then back up to Draco and smiled, a very soft lift to his lips. "See you tomorrow." And he left.

Draco let his head drop to the desk.

* * *

Life used to seem so simple. Sure he had a deranged maniac out to kill him, he had to survive the trials of childhood—including Dementors, werewolves, wicked teachers, kissing cute girls and deciding after all that he was gay—and he had to decide what to do once he finished school, but all in all, it didn't seem quite so complicated.

After all the twists and turns and little uncertainties, in the end he usually knew what it was he had to do.

The roof was rocky; tiny, sharp pebbles dug into his back as Harry shifted, staring at the stars as they danced amidst the encroaching clouds. He always enjoyed the stars; they were free in a way he would never be, in a way the name Harry Potter and his lightning bolt scar had never allowed. _We were so young_, he mused. _We each thought we would triumph; our sacrifices would not go unrewarded. We would save the world._ Snowflakes began to fall from the sky, slowly and delicately they alighted on his eyelashes, highlighted his dark hair.

The formless clouds sailed across the night sky, merging and blotting out the miniscule map of stars above, followed by a chilly breeze.

Harry shivered. He had lived his life, every waking hour from eleven until Voldemort's death, for a single event. The event transpired and now he stood on the winning side and by some unearthly miracle, he had survived. An event he harbored no expectation to prevail.

After time lapsed, slowly and solicitously, Harry stood, wrapping his robes around him tight, a comforting gesture, a sense of armor against the settling cold, a blank future. He picked his way along the roof to the stairs down, stopping often to glance up at the sky, perhaps searching for some answer in the cosmic maze.

His life, his younger years, his time in Hogwarts, all focused towards that one goal. Did he miss those years, a cost any carefree child should not have had to pay? He was wiser, he was stronger. Perhaps content with his choices, the ones he had made on his own. But something still lacked.

He had attained his life's purpose at age 20. What else was there to do? The future didn't hold anything special for him anymore. There was no prophecy, no guiding hand from Dumbledore, no one to dictate to him how he should live his life. He should feel relieved, shouldn't he?

These last four years just felt like filler.

He sighed, standing at the top of the stairs he looked up once more. No answer spoke to him from the heavens. No grand plan remained for him, only lonely days and faded pictures of lost friends, tinged with streaked sepia and sadness.

He could hear the wind whistle, picking up speed as it raced through the arms of the skeletal trees lined along the street below, denuded of their glory and vestments, digging out brief but terrible memories of the final battle. Another shiver danced down his spine like a snake sliding down the thin trunk of a yearling oak.

And now this curse on Hermione. The problems with the uprising Death Eaters. He hated that he was glad for the interruption to his daily life. He hated that Hermione's suffering gave him a sense of worth. Harry knew only terrible people felt such things.

He had his entire life ahead of him. He should be carefree and blameless, with days not so marked by guilt and despair. But the guilt was there, residing in his stomach, a swirling mass within him, alive with consistent nurturing. His childhood, his choices, were ripped from him and that he could accept, or so he told himself, but dragging his friends into it, Dumbledore's and Snape's death, Mr. Weasley's, Sirius' fall, Tonks, Seamus—the losses of so many… If he'd defeated Voldemort sooner… But no. He had vanquished his great evil. He had paid his dues.

He needed no outside force to define him any longer. Didn't he deserve a second chance? Could he recapture lost time?

It was a terrible thought to realise the most important moment of your life was over.

Maybe he was just searching for something, anything, to give his life a taste of meaning.

And while the gathering Death Eaters may not be his business, he couldn't convince himself that he should not be involved in Hermione's welfare. He would do anything he could to help his best friend. Even working with Malfoy. Even owing him.

With lingering thoughts swirling in a hurricane of confusion and solitude, Harry returned to his flat to sleep in a bed he hadn't favored in over a month.

* * *

Draco was at a loss.

_What the hell?_ kept running through his mind over and over again. One minute Harry was sweet talking the Weasley girl the next minute he was practically rutting against a man Draco knew Harry hadn't met before. Harry wasn't gay, was he? He sure wore the mantle with pride last night. And the biggest question, the one that held the most importance; why in the world did it matter to Draco?

It didn't, did it?

With a crappy night's sleep and a mind that wouldn't move away from vivid images burned into the back of his eyelids, Draco seethed. _What the fucking hell?_ He didn't want Harry. He didn't find him attractive. He didn't even want to think about the annoying goody goody boy. He blamed Granger. If it weren't for her contacting him about this wild goose chase of a project he would never have been thrust into Harry's presence.

He didn't deserve this. He worked his arse off for what he had achieved and where he had ended up. He did not bloody well deserve this.

He had lived through hell and survived. Didn't that earn him a break?

Above all else, he _had_ survived. It was a point of pride for Draco that even when his luck met terminal velocity--after his parents' death, after Severus Snape fell on the battlefield, after his own efforts remained unknown and the cruel look of hatred burned from Harry's eyes, even after his rejection from the British wizarding world--he still continued on.

But what is the good in persevering when you have nothing left to live for? When everything you cared for turned to ashes and dust.

He grumbled some more, yanking himself out of his melancholy, driving himself back into a supportive anger. Sure, the people in his life were gone. But he had Rain. He would always have Rain and nothing else would matter.

People from all over wizarding England as well as the continent came to grace Rain. That meant far more than any Order of Merlin or gaggle of useless friends. Rain was his. He started it from nothing. Built up the monumental club from simple brick and mortar, basic construction charms. He was proud of his accomplishments and didn't Rain's popularity prove he had made something of himself? Didn't the consistently excellent reviews provide the evidence he needed to show he had succeeded?

But in one of those brief flashes of honest self-awareness Draco admitted that sometimes material accomplishments didn't mean much. Sometimes you just wanted someone to share your glory with.

Damn, when had he become such a sentimental fool?

And now it drew time for him to swallow his uncertainty and quirky melodrama and Apparate to Granger's flat to help that hopeless man find the decode key so he could quit himself of the entire situation as soon as possible.

Why in the world had he pushed for that Debt, the vow he forced Harry to make? What had he been proving? Sometimes his desire to dominate everything only affirmed itself to be more of a hassle. He desperately needed to learn to pick his battles; learn which spoils of war truly held value.

Stopping before a mirror to gaze at his reflection, he styled his hair, which had grown long in the front, grabbed his robe and Apparated.

With a sudden jolt he reappeared in his own living space.

Huh?

It was like trying to Apparate into Hogwarts and Draco unconsciously knew there was no way he could break through the anti-Apparition ward currently placed on Granger's apartment.

Cursing like a pissed sailor he Apparated before Granger's door and banged on the entrance. A quick scan of the area showed no Muggle muddling about and Draco was secretly relieved he wouldn't have to _obliviate_ anyone.

The door flew open. "Who is it?" Harry demanded, opening his mouth for further choice words before he stopped in mid-tirade. "Oh, it's you." And then as if heaven's light illuminated his memory, Harry's eyes grew wide with a look of contrition. "Oh shite! Sorry. I should have warned you to Floo." Harry stepped back from the entrance, leaving space for Draco to enter.

Draco stalked in, still irritated, perhaps more so than he had any reason to be. "Well, shall we get on with this, Potter?" His words were short and clipped. Draco's eyes darted around the flat, looking at everything but Harry.

"Look, I'm sorry," Harry said in a flat tone.

"Oh Potter, do get over yourself." Draco finally turned his gaze to the other wizard. "There are vastly more important projects that currently require my attention. I don't have time to waste on your regrets."

"But you promised to help; you made a vow over it." Harry shifted from one foot to the other. This somehow calmed Draco down.

"Yes, apparently I did. Well, let us get started then."

"I've kinda examined everything, magically anyway. And nothing is hidden, by any spells I mean. It has to be something that isn't magically affected. I flipped through most of the books and had gone through her papers and nothing at all seems to be any kind of key or list or anything that seems to fit. I have no idea where to start." The flood of words finally ended.

"Are you done, Potter?" Draco asked, his composure perfected.

Harry, in comparison, looked unsettled and shrugged.

"Why don't you give me some space and I will see if I can find the key. I'll start with her paperwork."

"I told you, I already did that."

"Yes, and you admit to an abysmal level of cluelessness as to what you are actually looking for."

Harry shrugged again, a small storm cloud developing over his features.

"Just keep out of the way and wait."

Draco left Harry standing by the door.

* * *

He never liked waiting, wasn't all that good at it in fact. There was little doubt that Harry was a man of action and that sitting on the sidelines while someone else actively sought a solution was far too alien to him.

Draco took hours and Harry waited. The blond combed over files, examined curios and knickknacks—which were few—flipped through every page of each book, studied artwork, went through pictures, memoirs, and research and finally Harry couldn't sit any longer.

"Tea?" he asked.

Draco didn't respond.

"Malfoy, Tea?" Harry asked louder.

With a jerk, Draco looked up from a small wall calendar with images of Hawaii on the cover. "What?"

"Do you want tea?"

"Yes. Sure." He returned to flip through the months of the calendar.

Harry exited to the kitchen and put the teapot on the stove to heat. The stove had familiar knobs on it as well as other buttons and levers that Harry had no understanding of. His lack of knowledge hadn't bothered him before Draco's lecture about that stupid Sally Chip. Now Harry wondered what each one did so passed the time learning the mysteries of a wizarding/Muggle contraption. Mr. Weasley would have been proud.

Soon the teapot whistled its readiness and Harry set out two cups and poured the boiling water over the teabags.

"Tea's done," he called out. Harry sat at the dining table, eagerly looking around the kitchen in a way he hadn't before, categorizing the utilities as things he understood and those that he didn't.

Draco walked in, hair slightly disarrayed, a pallor to his complexion. Harry had counted at least five hours passing and his own anxious stomach reminded him that they hadn't eaten yet. "Want something to eat?"

"Are _you_ cooking?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well, I could. I know how to cook," he defended himself.

"Well knock yourself out, Potter. Awe me with your culinary prowess."

A snort escaped Harry as he rummaged through the cooler he had recently stocked up, his own kitchen abandoned since Hermione's initial cursing. As he pulled out courgette, cheese, garlic and other ingredients he asked, "Lasagna?" From the cupboard he grabbed the pasta and pan and started chopping up the vegetables.

"Malfoy, would lasagna be okay?" he finally asked again. "Picky little bastard," he mumbled to himself.

With still no response he turned and looked at the wizard. Draco stood in the centre of the kitchen, jaw hanging slack, eyes bugging at the huge, obscure painting on Hermione's wall.

"Weird painting isn't it. Can't imagine what might have gripped her about it. Too abstract. No heart to it, is there?"

"Potter…" Draco sounded breathless.

"What's wrong?" Harry immediately shifted into battle mode. Unsure of what affected Draco, putting him in some zombie mode Harry hadn't seen before. Years on the Auror squad taught him to leave nothing to chance.

"That's it."

"What's it?" he asked, confused.

"This painting. This is the key. It's been sitting here, right under our noses this entire time."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** This is my favorite chapter of this story. I love Remus and I love delving into his life and how he feels and his struggle.

* * *

**Chapter 9**  
_"I close my eyes, only for a moment and th moment's gone."  
__Kansas – Dust in the Wind_

The smell insidiously saturated everything in the wretched flat. Remus' sensitive nose flared open and closed, trying desperately to take in precious air without any trace of the putrid stench. He discovered it was just not possible. No amount of charms seemed to unplug the backed up drain, now overflowing through his kitchen, over his stained counters, covering his floors in a thin patina of slime.

Remus glared at the mess. The smelly slime glowed in response.

"_Flouenpluddecius_." He pointed his wand towards the unruly drain as a thick wave of taupe sparkles descended onto the sink.

The sink burped, causing a glob of sludge to become airborne and splatter all over his wand. An odour rivalling that which Hercules must have found within the Augean stables erupted with it, forcing Remus back into his tiny living area.

He prayed the river Alpheus would come drown him in its fury.

He scrubbed his wand with a strip of flannel, which he immediately threw in the rubbish bin. Accepting momentary defeat, he grabbed his worn peacoat, a terribly lucky find at a local Muggle thrift store, and fled into London.

The pavement shone under the evening street lights; the puddles from a recent rain reflected the harsh glare. Remus stormed down the street, splashing water from the shallow puddles, annoyed at the world, a rather typical state of mind for him these days.

He felt for his flask and cursed himself for leaving it behind, marinating in that smell. Anything within the flat was probably no longer potable by now. Passing an off-license, he made a last minute decision, popped in, dropped his last ten quid and left with a bottle wrapped up in brown paper and two pounds in change. He spent no time in opening it and then took a deep swig. Ahh, that put things into perspective.

He continued through the streets, breathing in the fresh air, especially clear after the evening shower. A hardware shop beckoned at him with plumbing tools arranged in the corner of the store window, more enticing than those of Neiman Marcus. The store had closed three minutes ago, but he knocked on the door anyway.

"Sorry, sir, we're closed," the shopkeeper said, eyeing the bag wrapped bottle and Remus' tattered clothing while pointing to the 'closed' sign.

"I need a plunger," Remus informed him. "I'll just pay for the plunger and let you close up. Please, it's an emergency."

The shopkeeper seemed to think a moment and then nodded, letting Remus enter the closed store. "The plumbing supplies are over on the left."

Remus nodded, walking directly to the section that held the Holy Grail. There they were. A nice line of various plungers, from house elf sized plungers to larger plungers that looked industrial in their dimensions. Remus settled for a friendly, midsized model. It was pink.

Digging in his pocket for change he finally came up with the money for the plumbing tool. He would need to exchange some Galleons again, not that he had many of those _to_ exchange.

Thanking the man, Remus left the store and continued to aimlessly stalk the evening streets of London. With plunger over one shoulder and bottle in the other hand, he could pass for a cynical version of a Victorian chimney sweep.

As the last touch of day absorbed into the darkness, the rain fell again. The bottle, soon drained dry, remained in Remus' right hand, hanging limply from his cold fingers as he traced the patterns of London's streets with his aimless steps. The plunger still held high honour on his left shoulder.

He found himself outside of St. James Park, one he visited often. Stumbling on weary legs he wandered in and found a bench under a large evergreen tree, a fir he thought. It smelled clean and fresh. Everything smelled better out here. He sat, pulling his collar up around his chin, and quickly dozed off.

"Get up, buddy. You can't sleep here."

Remus rocked back, pushed by an insistent hand. He quickly lifted his plunger, brandishing it like he would a wizard's wand. "What?" he asked groggily, silently scolding himself for being caught off guard. When had he got so careless? When had things gone so south?

"Go home. This ain't no drunk tank." A man in a uniform looked down at him.

"Yeah, yeah," Remus agreed, pushing off the bench to stand up, tilting a little to his left. He lowered the plunger. Home. He couldn't go back there. The smell alone would drive him to unspeakable acts of insanity. He exited the park with no true destination in mind, his dry throat longing for a drink.

"Hermione," he declared to himself. "I can sleep in her room." After a few blocks aimed towards the heart of wizarding London with all the accuracy of an 18th century musket, Remus realised that even though he visited almost every day, St. Mungo's might not allow him entrance in his current, somewhat fuzzy about the edges, state. Then he thought of Harry's flat and knew that the place most likely sat empty, as it had for the past two months. His friend would undoubtedly be at Hermione's home.

Well, he would search for him there.

Apparating with a skill only the truly alcoholic can hope to master, he appeared in a corner of Diagon Alley intent on Flooing from the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't polite to Apparate into someone's home unexpected, even an inebriated Remus understood that.

A drink before hand wouldn't be remiss, however, and he knew Tom would let him carry a tab.

"Remus, how you been?" Tom asked, his bald head gleaming in the dim light.

"Fine, and yourself?" Remus said, seating himself on a tall barstool, highly polished from centuries of rear ends.

Tom placed a short glass of cheap firewhiskey before Remus, who gladly took a long sip. "Not much to complain 'bout," the old man said and turned to a bevy of hags demanding service.

His drink didn't last him long and as the clock thrummed ten o'clock, he grabbed some Floo Powder and called out Hermione's address. He poked his head through, ready to call for Harry, when voices caught his attention.

"So, these three are '7, 3'. I think."

"You think?"

"Well this one could be '5, 2' instead, but why not try '7, 3'. That one might be '0, 12'…

"It can't be zero. Do you need another refresher?"

"No," the tone was touchy.

"Merlin, I miss _my_ key."

"Hey, I am doing my best with what rudimentary algebra I have. You know, if it weren't for Hermione and the extra Muggle lessons she plagued us with, I wouldn't even know how to solve these equations."

A mumbled "not that you know now" was quickly followed by a more clear "wherever did she find the time?" and a soft chuckle.

"She's a robot."

"What?"

"You didn't know? Top of her class in wizarding school, studied Muggle math and science, co-destroyer of Voldemort, unparalleled researcher, spell developer, pinnacle of house elf rights…"

A shallow choking sound preceded a moment of silence.

"Robot?"

"Exactly."

Remus knew those voices. Recognized them well. So well, he could not find the presence of mind to truly put the two together into what he would consider friendly banter.

"There has got to be a spell to solve this algebra."

"Why don't you develop one?"

"…"

"Oh, no you don't. Get back here and help me."

"I could you know. Develop one."

"I am sure you could, with time. Time you're not skiving off for. Come over here and decipher these." There was a rustle of paper.

Remus drew in a breath to call for Harry but was sidetracked once again.

"Why don't you do this part? I'll find the runes on the painting." Harry sounded like he was pouting.

"Can't solve one again?"

"I can… I just don't want to. You do the algebra."

"Fine. You cross your eyes staring at that damned monstrosity on the wall."

"Okay." Harry sounded pleased, like he'd won the fair day prize.

Remus decided he had to see this with his own eyes, plus he didn't feel like dripping in the Floo anymore. "Harry," he finally called out.

"Remus?" Harry called back at him. "What're you doing here?" Harry emerged from the kitchen, a concerned look on his face. "Come in. You okay?"

"Sure," Remus said emerging from the Floo, wincing at the slur that came through in his speech. He stood up straighter, jaw dropping uncouthly as Draco entered the room, all pompous and arrogant as usual. Harry turned to look at Draco, then back at Remus. He seemed rather baffled by Remus' obvious distress, as if he couldn't understand how Draco's presence in Hermione's flat might ever cause a jaw to drop.

"You don't look okay. Here." Harry flicked his fingers and Remus was instantly dry and warm. Remus smiled despite himself.

"Thanks. Why's he here?" Remus pointed at Draco, who sneered in reply.

"He's helping… with Hermione. Remember? You sure you're okay?" Harry walked over to him, wrapped him with a fuzzy blanket and led him to the sofa. Remus settled happily into the blanket, rattled brain remembering something about Draco decoding Hermione's research.

"Oh. Yeah. I r'member."

Remus was sure he caught some meaningful look pass between the two younger men, but he didn't think too much about it. He was dry, drunk, and cradled by warmth. He slowly slipped away again for the second time that night.

* * *

Remus woke up screaming, as he often did, from a dream he had no desire to remember, that his psyche had graciously tucked away to the wrinkled corners of his pickled brain. 

(_fallingfallingfallingfallingalone_)

His eyes flew open and his body sat up with a jolt only to be scrutinized by cold, gray eyes sitting across from him. His head jerked from side to side as his addled mind tried to remember (_freezing_) where he was. He shivered. _Hermione's_, he remembered, _I'm with Harry at Hermione's… and Draco?_ The other man finally came under Remus' consideration.

"Malfoy," he mumbled, not quite sure if anything else should be said. Draco nodded at him. Remus sniffed and Draco snorted incredulously.

The room smelled clean, except for the rank sweat sliding down his backbone, and it was warm. Comforting even. His eyes closed again and he drifted off.

* * *

His next waking was far gentler. He came up supple, like daybreak. 

"Remus." He could hear a voice soft and reassuring. "Remus, wake up." With a slow build up of will, he opened his eyes.

"Hi." Harry smiled at him, offering a cup of tea. English breakfast, his favourite.

"Thanks," he mumbled, mouth thick with dehydrated saliva. Grimacing at the sludge on his tongue he eagerly drank the hot tea, blowing on it between sips to cool the surface temperature. "Thanks," he said again, more clearly.

"No problem. Breakfast?" Remus looked up at Harry, his heart swelling in gratitude and nodded. Harry left for the kitchen, leaving Remus alone to think.

He didn't quite remember how he got here, other than he knew he couldn't stay at home. _The sink_, memories of last night swam to the front of his mind. To his shame he realised he let a stopped up sink get the better of him. He searched the room and found his pink plunger leaning against an umbrella stand occupied by brooms and brollies. It calmed him to see it and he smiled faintly.

Following a few moments to collect his thoughts, smell his breath and cast a freshening charm, and finally rise to his unsteady feet, he wandered into the kitchen following enticing smells of eggs and bacon.

"Remus, I've been thinking..." Harry opened with, as he laid a plate of food before the scrawny man. Remus pulled up a chair and descended upon the meal, glancing up every so often to listen to Harry. "Malfoy and I have been spending so much time deciphering these scrolls we haven't had time to do any footwork. Would you mind helping us with it?"

Swallowing down some half chewed toast, Remus nodded. "You know I would do anything to help out. As if I would mind." He shovelled another forkful into his mouth. He noticed Harry didn't look at him as he ate and consciously slowed down, taking smaller bites. He actually didn't remember the last full meal he'd eaten.

"Great!" Harry turned and beamed a bright smile his way. Remus couldn't help but return it. "Malfoy will be coming back this evening. I want to show you what we found out so far. After you've finished, of course. And you might want to take a shower." Harry laughed good-naturedly, pinching his nose. Remus couldn't agree more.

After his steaming shower, far longer than he would ever have got to take at home with his tiny water heater, he dried off, cast a cleansing charm on his clothing and went looking for Harry. He found the younger man still in the kitchen; table cleared of breakfast plates but now covered in piles of paperwork. He was focusing all of his attention on a scroll before him, sporadically scribbling something on the side margin of the parchment. Sometimes he would lean back in his chair and study the painting on the wall, then return to his examination of the scroll.

The tip of his tongue poked out in staunch concentration.

"Harry," Remus interrupted.

"Oh, Remus. Come on in. Can you help with this algebra?" Harry sounded worried, or annoyed, Remus wasn't quite sure, maybe both.

"So, you know what those equations mean, then?"

"Oh yeah!" Harry's eyes practically lit up with excitement. "Let me show you how this works. God, Hermione certainly was a genius… _is_ I mean." He glanced over to Remus with a look of pure guilt. "Merlin, I hate doing that." Harry looked down at his hands, ink stained and looking raw from hours of holding a quill, previous excitement evaporated away. In a small voice he said, "I seem to be doing it more and more lately, too."

Remus roughly patted Harry on the shoulder. "Don't kill yourself over it, Harry. Just do what you can to help her. Did you find anything that would help?"

"I think so." Some of his earlier enthusiasm returned. "But I want to explain this to you first." Remus sat down next to Harry, looking over a parchment full of gibberish.

"So you have this algebraic equation here, in the corner of each coded document. Not all of them have simple solutions; multiple sets of numbers can solve each one," Remus nodded, he remembered that from the earlier scroll Harry had shown him. "So that's made this all a bit of a pain in the arse. Anyway, we have these number combinations that solve the equation. Then you look on the _key_." Harry pointed to the painting. "Now Malfoy and I first thought it was a book, so we were searching everywhere for a book type of key and couldn't find anything. This key, the painting, is different than what Snape and Malfoy were using. Luckily Malfoy recognized it…. Anyway, the numbers from the equation are coordinates for where to look on the painting for a rune."

Remus looked up at the painting, really studied it and saw within the artwork a grid and a series of ancient runes imbedded in the images.

"So, this equation could be either '5, 2' or '9, 1'. At '5, 2'," he stood, running his wand over the painting, highlighting the rune at the meeting point, "we find the rune _anzuz_ and at '9, 1' we find _yebo_." Harry flipped through a small text titled _Deciphering Ancient and Nordic Runes_. Remus remembered that from his days at Hogwarts. "Yeah, _yebo_, which is different than _gebo_. Shite, this stuff is convoluted. Leave it to Hermione," Harry said with pride.

"So, after you have the rune, you also need another thing from the parchment. Using the rune, the coordinates and some Arithmancy, you lift the sigil from the parchment. In some cases you need to pass the document through a candle to heat it for the sigil to lift properly."

Remus nodded, following Harry's explanation in a way he couldn't have done the previous evening. Harry frantically wrote down some numbers in the margin again and then flicked his wand over the paper in a series of five stiff movements. A golden symbol floated up out of the paper.

"Then," Harry said with a grand flourish, "you cast this sigil," he pointed to the floating symbol, "over the parchment it came from and the thing finally unravels for you." Some more quick spellwork and the symbol faded into nothing. Immediately the document was understandable. Remus was sure he didn't see any of the writing actually change. "That's Equacrology for you. Designed by my best friend and only ever cracked by one person. Draco Malfoy." He tossed his quill down to the table, seemingly exhausted after the long explanation.

Remus was suitably impressed.

"And," Harry continued, "if the initial algebraic equation has more than one answer, sometimes you have to go through these steps multiple times to get the correct rune that can lift the sigil out of the document. This shite wears me out." He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it beyond redemption.

"I could help," Remus offered.

Beaming, Harry said, "I thought you'd never offer. Here, solve these equations for me. I'm crap at it." He gracelessly dropped a pile of papers in front of Remus.

Five hours later, after a quick lunch of crackers, cheese and very thick coffee, Draco Flooed in to find the two men knee deep in work, literally. Remus looked up as Draco entered the kitchen, still unsure of this man's place in the grand scheme of things. Were Harry and Malfoy friends, or did they just tolerate working together to solve this mystery? He hadn't asked Harry to clarify it for him; Harry apparently hadn't thought an explanation was necessary.

But Remus did know one thing that Harry probably didn't. Malfoy was nervous. Not in the _fear_ sense of the word, he didn't get that kind of a scent off of him, but more like a new wolf trying to enter into an established pack. He wanted acceptance.

Now that was a shock.

"Potter, Lupin," he greeted. Remus offered a small smile and a nod, pushing a tower of parchment aside so Malfoy could get to a chair.

"Hey Malfoy, we got almost half of these pages decoded."

"Ah, I see you've been busy, then." Draco casually strode over to the piles of decoded pages and picked up a few to review the information on them. "Anything make any bit of sense yet?"

"Some look promising. Haven't looked over them all, still deciphering. Here," Harry handed Draco a third of the remaining pile. "You can decode these. Remus already worked all the algebra, now we just have to find the right rune and cast the spells over them."

Looking over at Draco, Remus was shocked to receive a curt nod, a monumental gesture coming from the aloof man. Draco sat in a chair and started reviewing the pile Harry had handed him.

Eventually, every piece of paper, parchment, scroll and document encrypted with Equacrology that had been found within Hermione's apartment, had been decoded and lay in piles surrounding the three men in a filing system possibly more difficult to understand than Hermione's encryption code itself.

"I'm beat," Harry said, tilting back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs.

"I could use a drink," Remus sighed before he could catch himself. Harry glanced sharply at him then down at the quill in his hands, feather split and bedraggled. Nobody said a thing. Remus slowly rose from his seat and left for the bathroom. He hated the cold silence that had descended on the once animate kitchen. He hated the sense of pity that coated every word and gesture that came from Harry. He hated that Harry felt that way about him and that it was Remus' own actions that got him here.

He stared at his scruffy face in the mirror, his sallow skin and bloodshot eyes. He looked like a walking corpse, solely powered by will and stubborn determination. How did he get here? How had he fallen so far?

With a quick splash of cool water on his face, he felt he had the courage to return to his friend. Harry sat alone in the kitchen, staring into his mug of coffee.

"Where'd Malfoy go?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged, "It's pretty late." They both glanced out of the window, watching the sky lighten. "Or early. He returned to his club."

"Why _is_ he helping?" Remus finally gave in and asked.

Harry looked over at him, a confused look on his face as if he were trying to puzzle something out. "He promised," was all he said.

"Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure, other than to get me to make a minor vow to him." Remus was startled at that. "I made the vow and he hasn't cashed in. Told me he didn't even know what he wanted from me." He shrugged. "So he's helping… promised to do whatever he could to help Hermione and how could I turn that down?" Harry turned his eyes over to Remus. They looked haunted.

Remus ruminated on that and realised he would have done the same thing for any of his friends. "Well, he seems like he's being a decent bloke."

"He is, and that just worries me. He must be up to something."

"Maybe he isn't," Remus said, enticing an incredulous look from Harry. "No, listen. Maybe he just wants… to be involved in something."

Harry's eyes went wide, in shock or disbelief or perhaps understanding. "Isn't that what we all want?" he asked, voice soft and contemplative.

* * *

After a short nap on Hermione's sofa, Remus felt ready to finally face his clogged drain problem at home. With trusty plunger in hand, he Flooed to The Leaky Cauldron and from there walked to his flat, dodging people who took no notice of him, ignored his very existence. 

He climbed the rickety stairs to his door and eased it open, aghast at the stench tumbling out. Cupping a hand over his mouth and nose, he walked in and apprehensively went to examine his kitchen.

Every surface, every countertop, wall, utensil, pot and plate that had been left out was covered in that same slime. It seemed that whatever new life form had evolved in his drain had experienced a population explosion.

Remus took one step into the slimy den and immediately slipped, landing right on his tail bone. "What a great way to start the day," he mumbled under his breath. Climbing to his feet he wobbled over to the sink and lifted his plunger, magnificent and rubbery in its splendor.

"Think you're taking up residence here, do you?" The slime seemed to glow at him again. "Not in my flat, you don't." With a swift thrust he rammed the plunger into the drain and started the slow process of removing the well established colony.

He plunged the sink, fought the goop, and finally, after 20 minutes of sweaty work, the water ran freely down the drain. "Ha! Fight that, you infidel. _Scourgify!_" He cast the scouring charm repeatedly over his kitchen; so many times he was afraid he would scrub clean through the linoleum. But in the end every trace of odoriferous slime was gone, nothing but disinfected, though eternally stained, surfaces remained.

He sank to the floor in relief, cradling his plunger in his lap.

It did not take long for his stomach to grumble after such a long night and recent hard work. With a sense of accomplishment, he stood slowly, rubbing his tail bone, and rummaged through his cupboards. Some stale bread, a can of beans, a container of sugar. Surely, he had to have something more to eat. His hand fell on a half full bottle of bourbon. His salivary glands kicked in. Yes, that was just what he wanted.

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. The liquid slid down his throat with a companionable burn but the only thing he thought of during its entire journey was Harry's worried expression. His pity.

With a violent yell, he slammed the bottle of alcohol onto the counter. Bitterly, he threw it, smashing it against the wall, screaming at the unfairness of the world, at the pain in his heart and the panic waiting in his throat. The bottle shattered and a thin sheen of tawny liquid slid down the mould-speckled, decaying plaster.

He threw open all of his cupboards and his fridge, grabbing every bottle of liquor he found. He uncorked a bottle of five pound wine and poured it into the drain. It flowed down smoothly, like it would have progressed down his willing throat. He watched it go. A six-pack of lager followed it and then a bottle of whiskey. All down the drain, out of his kitchen, out of his life.

Finally he grabbed his flask, and as he leaned over the newly unclogged sink, he emptied that too. The astringent liquid slid into oblivion, mixing with salty tears as he wailed at the loss of so many years.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**  
_"And if rain brings winds of change, let it rain on us forever."  
__VNV Nation – Solitary_

Harry didn't know what to think. So many things had changed during this wet winter that he couldn't even figure out if _he_ was the same person. The Auror Division had been his deepest desire coming out of Hogwarts, his destiny moulding him to be the perfect dark wizard catcher. He could do so much good by joining… but it wasn't what he had expected and he turned his back on that part of his life, terribly unsure of where this other avenue truly led. Ron remained an Auror and still seemed happy. Harry didn't hold that against him in the least. His other friend had gone the path of University and made something of herself, like they all knew she would. The Ministry embraced Hermione's intellect with open arms and a huge pay rate and she happily created new spell after new spell. It was a dream come true for her. But now, she lay broken, only a portion of herself and he _had_ to do something. He had to save her. Perhaps he did have a 'saving people' thing. And Remus. Remus had fallen so far, a shadow of his former self, lost in anguish and self-medicating to cure that pain. Why hadn't Harry done something about it? Harry knew why… Remus was a grown man and he could make his own decisions. But as Harry watched Remus degenerate into the hollow person he had become, he should have known… he couldn't make his own decisions anymore. Addicts willingly relinquished that power. But after that day spent deciphering Hermione's documents, Remus had changed. That spark, that determination and love for life, it was back. His _control_. Harry knew something happened and would do his best to make sure Remus didn't slip back on old habits. Needless to say, he now stayed at Hermione's home with Harry. The companionship alone would do wonders and Harry wanted to be there for him if he was ever needed. But the real trophy of this line-up of personal metamorphoses was Draco. He was civil. No, actually he was _friendly_ and smart and Harry realised he actually enjoyed his rival's company. Rival still? Harry didn't think so. Draco wasn't perfect, he still had that superiority complex and spent far too much time on his hair, but Harry had learned if he gave him some concessions, Draco wasn't all that bad.

The world had an astounding way of surprising Harry when he least expected it.

As the chill wind sent goose bumps over his flesh, Harry realised he needed to get home, to sift through that small library of words. And then he laughed. Wasn't he home already? The only reason he ever returned to his building anymore was to sit on the roof. He glanced over the skyline; tall buildings stood against a backdrop of mixed gray. This was the wettest winter he could ever remember. It seemed to rain every day.

With the blink of an eye, he disappeared and reappeared in Hermione's flat. Home.

* * *

Ron had been completely consumed with his case in Mexico, so he hadn't visited Hermione as much as he would have liked. In fact, the last week had kept him away entirely. This did not make the redheaded man happy, as was made evident by the grumble and scowl he offered Harry as he threw himself into a chair next to Hermione's hospital bed. He reached out and more roughly than intended, grabbed his love's hand.

"Tough case?" Harry asked. He had known Ron long enough to know his friend usually recovered from his anger faster if he had the opportunity to vent.

"You wouldn't believe," he said with an exasperated sigh. "This should have been an easy case… Bad guy sells cursed and dark artefacts, we set up sting and catch bad guy, the end. A couple weeks, tops… but over three months? He must have a seer on his side to know who's an undercover agent and who's the real dirtbag… or complete idiot. Last Wednesday we had to remove three hexes from some French fellow who thought he was getting an original _tsansa_. Needless to say that shrunken head spewed three curses out at him before he incinerated it. We found out about it and questioned him. Complete dead end. Luckily we knew how to cure him of that infestation curse… _That _was disgusting."

Harry shuddered, having insects inhabiting his body didn't sound like a good way to go about his day, either.

"Maybe he's got someone from the team on his payroll," Harry suggested. Neither of them liked to think that an Auror might be working against their unit, but it had to be considered—especially after all the road blocks they'd hit in this case.

"I know," Ron cried, throwing his hands up in frustration. Then, more softly, "I know. I don't want to think about it. Those guys have watched my back, your back too, for years. Sure, we don't get paid a ton, but shite… this guy's not just someone who wants to throw us the two fingered salute… people have _died_ because of him. I can't see anyone from the team helping a murderer."

Crookshanks sprinted from the bathroom and jumped up on the bed, his small feet quickly kneading Hermione's left arm. The hospital room had been modified to meet the cat's needs, including litter tray. Harry decided he needed to send Mediwitch Periwinkle a gift basket.

"At least she has her cat." Ron sounded miserable and Harry wished he could do something to help. "Not like I'm here for her…" Ron mumbled so quietly, Harry pretended he didn't hear.

"Look, Ron. Maybe I can help… unofficially." Ron looked up at his friend, a tiny glimmer of hope touching his saddened face. "We finally deciphered Hermione's notes and while most of them are totally unrelated to her research, there are some leads. We never checked out Arbormore at Cairo, so I need to go do that soon. Malfoy knew about Hexine and offered to talk to her about how this type of a curse could be related to deep, unformed magic." Ron's look of shock almost stopped Harry's dialogue, but he forged on. "There are some other things we found out. Millicent Bulstrode actually came to talk to Hermione about this curse. Apparently, she was cursed too and that was the whole reason Hermione even got involved. Remus is looking for her. Also, Hermione seemed to think—in some of her later notes—that it was caused by an ancient relic of some sort; that this kind of curse couldn't be done by mere spellwork and she was actually talking to some scholar down in Costa Rica about South American relics. So, since I need to go down that way anyway, maybe I could help with catching your bad guy. Off the record of course. I'm sure after the case is solved Kingsley will let you stay up here with Hermione."

Ron grinned, showing a nice row of white teeth. "That would be great, Harry. I would appreciate you getting off your lazy arse and helping. All unofficial of course…" he winked.

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter. Might I have a word?" Mediwitch Periwinkle interrupted them.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Harry stood, smiled at Ron, and left the room. _That woman must tiptoe everywhere_, Harry thought to himself. Very few people could catch him off guard.

"Please, follow me, sir," she said and led Harry through the corridors, down a set of service stairs, and finally into a small, apparently unused room. During their trek Harry wondered if fruits, chocolates or an assortment of wine would be a better gift choice.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you during your time with Miss Granger; however, I wasn't sure who else to talk to." She spoke in rushed whispers, catching Harry's total attention; thoughts of daisies and carnations burning away like fog.

"What is it? What's going on?"

The healer pulled a Muggle manila envelope from her lime green robes. "Please, take this. I have documented everything." The previously collected woman squirmed with nervous energy and kept staring at the door as if certain someone would walk in at any moment. "The curse is spreading. It isn't as strong as it was, in fact it seems to be getting weaker in everyone… but it is spreading to more and more people. Miss Granger's curse is the same as theirs, but something else is interfering with it, so it's affected her in a significantly different manner. But, it's the _same_ basic curse. The Director of the Hospital will not listen to me and I have been ordered to drop it. So I was hoping… considering who you are… could you follow up on this? I can't find a cure and nobody else is looking. Do you understand?" She seemed frantic. "_Nobody_ _else is looking_, they are sweeping this entire situation under the rug and ignoring that it's even happening."

Harry felt increasingly uncomfortable during the mediwitch's outburst. It read like a bad sequel following the Ministry's actions upon the return of Voldemort.

"Please, can you tell me anything else?" Harry begged.

"I can't talk long, I'm under surveillance. You have everything I know in here." She paused for a breath, pushing the envelope against Harry's chest. Her eyes crawled all over Harry's face, running over his scars, a badge of honor in some minds, a stigma to him. "I have one more thing to ask you."

Harry nodded.

"Please, _Obliviate_ me. They _will_ check my thoughts, I can't change those… but if they find out I gave you this information…" she shook her head. "Please, make me forget."

"What!" he sputtered. "I can't take your memories from you!" Harry hated the memory affecting spells. He hated the thought of them being used on him and even more, he hated using them on others. Nothing seemed a worse violation than raping the mind.

"_Please_," she pleaded. "If they find out… I don't know what they'll do, but someone is covering this up. I know I can do no more. _They_ are watching me. Help me to just be safe."

"Who is? Who's watching you?"

"I don't know… that's what frightens me. My fellow healers? The Ministry? Aurors? Dark wizards? I _don't_ know, but I know someone is. I can feel them…"

"Fine… But when this is over, I promise I will do what I can to replace those memories."

Through watery eyes, she smiled weakly at him. She had a lovely smile and the trust and relief expressed within it gave Harry the strength to cast his spell. He lifted his wand and as she mouthed _thank you_ he spoke the word. "_Obliviate_." Then he turned and quickly walked away from the dazed woman before she came to.

* * *

Professor Arbormore of the Cairo Museum offered Harry little help.

The difficulty for Harry was to determine what could be said to the man and what couldn't be. Was he trustworthy? Not to mention Harry just didn't have the technical knowledge or lingo to really communicate properly with the intellectual. He sat in the Professor's spacious office for twenty minutes, watching the man's oversized brow wrinkle while trying to comprehend Harry's subtle words, before Harry finally just asked.

"Do you know anything about an artefact that curses people, the effect being drainage of their magical energy? Perhaps something South American?"

The brow's wrinkles tripled in size. "I'm sorry, I can't help you." Professor Arbormore stood and went to exit the room.

"Please, I need your help. My friend, Hermione Granger, has been cursed and going through her notes she mentioned you and that you might help and…"

"Mr. Potter. I am sorry, I cannot help you. Miss Granger has already contacted me and I informed her I could offer her no help, either."

"Who got to you?" Harry asked, his voice a quiet wonder.

The man looked shocked. "Wha… Nobody got to me. I don't know anything. Now, if you will excuse me…" and he left the room, leaving Harry alone to wonder just how big this entire thing had grown while he let time slip through his fingers.

* * *

Harry felt like flotsam without a beach to land on. In the last few days a menagerie of information had found its way into his hands and he had no idea how to piece it all together. If only Hermione could help him. He needed her so badly a knot had developed in the base of his stomach. He couldn't do this without her knowledge, her sharp mind. He was the action man, she was the brain. Ron couldn't help much either, being perhaps less of a brain man than even Harry. Ron was the people person. Perhaps Harry should have sent him to talk to Arbormore, though Harry had little hope his friend would have gotten any further with the shifty man.

His next step was to visit his contact in Costa Rica, perhaps find some common thread that made it all as clear as Hogwarts Lake. And helping out Ron of course. Getting out there, getting some action, that might make him less frustrated with this entire research situation.

He wanted to talk to Kingsley Shaklebolt first, though. See if he could give Harry any insights into Ron's current stakeout… all off the record. He didn't think his old friend would mind if Harry helped out on this maddening case. And to see if any clues were found about Hermione's attack, though after all these months Harry had practically given up on the Aurors discovering anything.

And so he entered the Ministry and walked through those familiar halls towards the stairs to Level Two, waving to people, smiling at old friends, ignoring more than a few scowls, and became slowly aware of something. The energy of the place was off. He paused a moment and sent out his _feelers_ and noticed a buzz to the air. A kind of invariable drone of energy, toneless.

That was new.

And he didn't like it.

He picked up his pace, taking the stairs two at a time, and walked through the Auror Division, ignoring the few calls for him until he came to Kingsley's office. He stopped before the door and knocked.

"Come in."

Harry entered.

* * *

He sat across the desk from Kingsley, staring at his fingers as he smoothed out the crease in his robe. Slowly, methodically he ran his calloused finger up and down the persistent wrinkle, worrying it until it encompassed his entire world, blocking out the nagging feeling screaming at him. _Something. Is. Wrong._

"Nothing new, Harry. I still have my best men on the case."

"Ron's still in Mexico," Harry said, his words pale and dull.

"Well, that case's important, too."

"I was thinking of going down there." He watched Kingsley closely. "See if I can help him out."

Kingsley's broad grin faltered, faded slightly, but quickly rebounded back. "Oh, I'm not sure that's a good idea. Hermione needs you here," the Auror said. Harry watched Kingsley's eyes intently. There was nothing there. He quickly drew his gaze back down to his fingers. "And Ron is doing just fine without you. Better let him have a crack at a case without you there to oversee his every decision." Harry flinched.

"Mulberry and Ritcholdt are questioning a few more suspected Death Eater holdovers to see of they have anything to say about Hermione's curse."

"Did you hear if anyone else has been cursed?" Harry asked.

"No. No other curse of this type's been reported. Luckily the perpetrators didn't appear to go on any mad cursing rampage. Though _unfortunately_ it happened to Hermione. Don't you worry Harry; we'll figure out who did this and have them lift the spell. Then they'll be punished appropriately."

Looking up from his busy fingers, Harry offered a small, completely hollow smile that Kingsley seemed to buy with full acceptance. But he couldn't keep his eyes on his friend, and they wandered over his shoulder, examining the mug shots of screaming wizards and witches covering the far wall, proclaiming their innocence or laughing insanely about their crime or perhaps their plans for imminent escape. He looked into the black and white eyes of those criminals, begging them to tell him what to say next.

They offered no such prompting, just a sick tingle wriggling up his spine.

"I… I better go." Harry stood to leave, still avoiding those eyes.

"I have business to get to anyway. Thanks for coming in, it's always good to see you." The Chief Auror's tone rose in pitch, like someone trying to hold in a laugh, or maybe a sob. Harry finally looked back at the man.

Kingsley bent over his desk, _hunched_ over his desk, and pulled out a tattered quill. His odd movement, forced and pained, caused Harry to halt his exit. With a trembling hand Kingsley quickly scrawled out a word on a folded paper, exerting so much force on the quill it bent the tip. Harry looked hard at him as he stood, those eyes… there was something there, something that Harry didn't quite recognized.

Kingsley leaned across the desk without any grace and roughly stuffed the paper in Harry's hand. _Go_ he mouthed. He pushed Harry hard, the force causing Kingsley to stumble back against his chair. Harry almost fell to the ground and when he turned and looked back at Kingsley, that smile was back and the eyes… dead again.

Then Harry knew what it was in those eyes that brief moment earlier, when his friend had written on the scrap of paper. It was desperate sanity.

Harry fled.

* * *

He'd been pacing for the last twenty minutes, from kitchen to Floo, Floo to kitchen, thinking, running his mind over everything he knew, all the evidence and information he had. His mind couldn't contain it all.

Harry sat down to write it all out, but he couldn't put it to paper, either. He was too agitated, too full of raw energy. The air crackled around him. He needed to fly. He missed the Hogwarts grounds; there was nowhere to fly around London.

Kingsley… What was happening? Harry looked down at the scrunched piece of paper in his hand, coated with sweat from his palm. It read _Mexico_.

What did that mean? Did Kingsley really want him to go to Mexico? Was he under surveillance too so couldn't talk to Harry? He was acting so odd, so peculiar, and then it hit him. Was Kingsley under the Imperius Curse? Holy hell.

He needed help. He was a big enough man to admit that, but who? Remus currently sat behind the counter at Blumgeower Books, hopefully drinking tea not laced with liquor. Harry couldn't pull him away from there, Remus needed that job. Ron was staked out in Mexico, probably ready to explode with frustration. Harry needed to get down there, but not yet. He had to lay all the pieces into place.

Damn… If only he or Ron had been cursed instead of Hermione, she would have solved this all long ago. Did he know anyone else who could help him? Nobody of Hermione's calibre came to mind. She had developed an unbreakable crypto system for God's sake.

But she didn't.

It was broken. By one person.

He Disapparated away.

* * *

The neon blue sign was becoming a familiar sight for Harry and he wasn't sure if he liked that. He hoped to God that Aiden wouldn't be here, he didn't need to deal with that man right now, that very sexy man. Harry shook his head to flee those thoughts.

He walked into the club, sparsely populated at the early hour, and searched for a familiar face. Draco stood behind the bar with the barmaid, laughing and apparently having a good time. He looked good when he wasn't acting condescending. Harry practically ran up to them.

"Malfoy," he interrupted. "I need your help."

Draco's gaze slowly swung towards the other wizard. Harry thought he looked annoyed. "Potter."

"Hey. Look, I'm sorry for interrupting, but I was really hoping you could help out again."

"Haven't I helped you enough?" Draco asked in his cultured accent. The barmaid caught Harry's eye then quickly looked back to Draco. She appeared to be hiding a smile, but not very well.

"Yes. And thanks." Harry swallowed. Maybe this was a bad idea. "But I've stumbled on some other information and I want another opinion on what it might mean." There, that didn't sound like he was completely incompetent.

"I could possibly help you. What are you offering, Potter?" Harry's heart sunk. He already owed him a vow.

Harry swore he heard an exasperated sigh from the woman standing next to Draco. "You haven't eaten yet, sir," she said. "Perhaps an offer of dinner might cover any debt."

Draco swiftly turned a deadly glare on the girl. Harry, quite shocked by the reaction, knew he'd just missed something.

"Patricia, certainly you must know my aid is worth far more than one dinner. And certainly worth more than what this man could offer." Draco's voice hitched, just a hint of a hitch, but it was there nonetheless. Was Draco nervous? Harry knew he must have heard wrong.

The barmaid shrugged. Her amused eyes seemed to glow. Mischievous. _She must have been a Slytherin_, Harry thought.

"Well, make that only part of the payment," she said. "Oh, got some customers, better go mix some drinks." She left the two men standing at the end of the bar, her long hair touching the hem of her half cloak. She glanced back briefly and winked before helping the customer.

Harry looked back over to Draco. "I could take you to dinner if you want…" Draco still looked annoyed. "Okay, listen. I've pulled from Hermione's decrypted notes the stuff that looks to be pertinent to her research on Bulstrode's curse. I also got a pile of research from someone else, all medical stuff. I don't know how to read it. And now…" he wasn't sure what he should reveal to Draco, but he figured he might as well go for broke and tell him everything. "Now, I think Kingsley is under some sort of Imperius, but he gave me a hint. Mexico. Normally I would just go to Hermione… but… You're the next smartest person I know." He hated admitting that.

"Next?" Draco asked. He sounded insulted. "Remember who it was who never got himself cursed in the first place."

"Whatever, Malfoy. Will you help me or not?"

"Fine, Potter. I will. However, as my lovely barmaid has so thoughtfully stated, I haven't eaten yet. So I will meet you…"

Harry interrupted him. "Well, where'd you want to go?"

"Excuse me?" Draco looked a little ill.

"I haven't eaten either; we might as well grab something together."

The normally collected blond seemed ruffled.

"This way," Harry quickly continued, feeling like he should explain himself further, "I can go over some of what I know so far."

Draco stood tall and nodded. "Fine, but this is _not_ payment for my helping you. I am sure I will come up with something more fitting later."

"Sure, whatever. Ready?" Harry should have known it wasn't going to be as easy as just asking for help.

"Yes, I'm ready." Draco walked around the bar and right past Harry towards the doors. Harry cursed under his breath, questioning the sanity of going to dinner with Draco, but picked up his speed to catch up to the Slytherin anyway.

Neither of them noticed the gleeful look from Patricia.

* * *

Draco knew he should fire her. He usually liked having observant staff; they informed him if any troubles might occur before they even happened. Having them watch _him_, on the other hand, and make assumptions based on very erroneous data, now that was pushing it too far.

But the data wasn't erroneous. And here he was at dinner with Harry. Draco wasn't quite sure how to act. Draco always knew how to act! He sat across from Harry in silence. Didn't they just spend a week together deciphering codes and actually getting along? What happened?

He was at dinner with the Boy Who Lived. No the Man Who Lived, the rather attractive Man Who Lived who looked even better when he wasn't scowling at Draco with hatred.

The restaurant, a posh Italian place in Diagon Alley called Café Angelo's, was Draco's pick and the bill, Draco promised, was Harry's. Harry just sighed in resignation. Draco ordered an expensive dinner, complete with lobster and truffles, and an expensive wine, something French, and enjoyed every moment of it. Harry ordered something plebian with too many noodles and aubergine. However, he did seem to enjoy the wine. Perhaps he wasn't a total loss.

"Well, Potter. Care to tell me what you can?" He let his eyes graze over the surrounding patrons of the restaurant.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said after he swallowed. "Honestly, I'm not sure where to start. I've got so much going through my head… But how about some privacy first." Draco watched as the other wizard laid down his fork and knife, sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Potter, I don't think this is an appropriate place for a nap," Draco said with a sneer.

One emerald green eye popped open and Harry said, "Give me a moment." It closed again.

That tickle of energy Draco had become familiar with whenever Harry worked his subtle magic danced across his skin. He shivered.

As a curtain of silence built up around them--and other magic that Draco couldn't analyze without overtly using his wand--did its work, Harry mused, "Let me see, where to start."

"Well, how about the beginning."

Those eyes popped open. "Really? That could take a while."

"Well isn't it better if we're both on the same playing field?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled and it almost, almost, caused Draco to smile back. "Okay," he said, and began to speak.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**  
_"I've got a hunger, twisting my stomach into knots."  
__Death Cab for Cutie – The Sound of Settling_

Under the dim lights of Café Angelo's, Harry told his tale. They finished their dinner and the bottle of wine and then the next bottle and finally a third. All very nice vintages. Draco was pleased.

Harry talked for hours and Draco listened to every word he spoke. Initially, Harry sort of babbled and Draco knew there was no way he could conclusively make sense of what the man was saying. But after Harry's initial rush to get out what he could—a very vague and unruly overview—he went back to the beginning and laid it all out. Only the facts. Draco appreciated that Harry didn't colour his telling of the research with his own opinions or deductions.

"It all started when Millicent Bulstrode came to Hermione to see if she could discover anything about a curse that was cast on her. It seemed to have completely destroyed all of her magic—left her a squib. This happened _after_ she was approached by some of Voldemort's old followers—those we hadn't nabbed for whatever reason—and she'd met up with them at some gathering."

Draco nodded, urging Harry to continue. He hadn't told Harry about Greg being contacted as well, most likely by the same group. He still waited for his old friend to get back to him with anything that might fill in the gaps of their faint comprehension.

"In her notes, Hermione said she couldn't figure out anything about the curse; it wasn't anything she'd ever come across through any of her research or experiments. She was pretty impressed by it." Harry smiled tenderly. "She had a few leads, most of them she had already traced, such as some connections she had at her University, an Order member, and Arbormore from Cairo, who was a total dickhead," Harry grumbled. "None of these were any help, especially since Bulstrode insisted her name not be brought up in any of Hermione's inquiries." Harry paused, looking off over Draco's shoulder; eyes squinted slightly as if trying to remember something. "And then Bulstrode told Hermione that more people were approaching her about being drained of magic, too… most of them were at the same gatherings she'd attended." He finished his glass and poured himself another.

"So at this point, Hermione knew, through Bulstrode, that old Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathizers were gathering and that this curse was spreading, mainly through those ranks. She wasn't sure what other avenues to take. She wanted to talk to me and Ron, but again Bulstrode wouldn't let Hermione tell anyone about it, especially people who might know her."

Harry rolled his eyes and then turned his striking gaze on Draco. It sent a shiver over his skin, causing goose bumps to bloom across his forearms. Pure intensity.

"And at this point, Hermione contacted you."

"Oh," Draco said. "I see." He took a sip of his wine. "And…" He twirled his hand, gesturing as if to say 'go on with it'.

"And you two apparently chatted. Who better to touch bases with than her old Death Eater spy?" Draco almost felt insulted, but it wasn't like what Harry said was a lie. "She didn't know who you were at first, as you well know. When she finally did learn your identity and tried to meet with you, she got cursed."

"You know I had nothing to do with that." Draco had an oddly strong desire to have Harry believe him.

Harry dropped his eyes to the table, his features softening. "I know you didn't. It's just hard…" Harry sat silently for a few moments. Draco began to wonder if he was going to continue, but then Harry spoke again. "Anyway, then you found her in your alley and she now lies in a bed at St. Mungo's while the curse continues to spread."

"Spread?" Draco asked, shocked. "How do you know that?"

With a heavy sigh, Harry explained what he found in the healer's secret files. "I was given a large collection of medical papers concerning what one person thought of as an epidemic. Initially there were a few people who came in with the same symptoms as Bulstrode. No magic. A lethargy often accompanying it. The healers ran a barrage of tests searching for both magical and Muggle diseases. They were all under quarantine in fact. Eventually they attributed the effects to a curse, one they hadn't come across before. And then more and more people started showing up with the same symptoms, though to a lesser degree. Their quarantine did nothing; after more tests they realised it didn't spread on its own, but had to be specifically cast each time. Each individual had to have been cursed by someone."

Draco held his breath at this revelation. Who would be cursing all of these people and why?

"Eventually," Harry continued, "those previously reduced to squibs started showing signs of magical usage again and in time more and more of their power came back. They thought that the curse was of limited duration. All of this was kept confidential. Nothing leaked to the public and my contact initially believed the media blackout was to still any potential panic from the populace."

"Initially?" Draco asked. This entire situation was growing in ways he had no previous conjecture about.

"My contact continued her research into the curse well after everyone was discharged with a clean bill of health. According to her reports, the victims still didn't feel up to full strength. However, St. Mungo's declared they were fine and it would take some time for a full recovery. After her supervisor found out about her continued research, she was told to stop. She didn't, but covered her tracks better. This is when she made the connection between Hermione's curse and this magical epidemic that had popped up throughout the wizarding community. It was the same curse. Hermione's was acting different because there was another spell affecting her. My contact believes it could be attributed to something experimental Hermione might have been working with." Harry took a deep breath. His speech slowed after so much wine, but he still had that look of apprehension on his face. Draco continued to listen.

"My contact also found out that many of those that were released healthy… well, their files had been altered. Not only that… she tried to interview some of them about how they were feeling and they didn't know what she was talking about… they'd been _Obliviated_." Draco's breath hitched and his eyes grew wide. "Then, her continued snooping was discovered and they threatened her… When I say _they_, you might as well use a capitol T with it. _They. Them._ She had no idea who threatened her and had no idea who watched her. That was when she came to me and dropped her collection of medical evidence in my lap." Harry's eyes clouded over, hidden pain surfacing, a look Draco had never seen in the man before. "She asked me to alter her memories… and I did it. I stole her thoughts from her." He grabbed his glass and drank more of the sweet wine.

"And another thing. At first the people who were cursed were mainly those who attended the Death Eater garden party…" Draco nodded. "After that more and more who became infected were Ministry personnel." Harry stared hard at Draco. "And then, as it seemed to be 'cured' or at least weakened, more of the people who became affected had no connection to either Death Eaters or the Ministry. Just normal citizens." Harry leaned back in his chair, a look of pure exhaustion dimming his normal vibrancy. "And now… I think they got Kingsley."

"What do you mean?" Draco interrupted. Kingsley had been one of Draco's main supporters after the war. He'd actually grown fond of the Auror, much to his own surprise, even though he threw his weight around far too readily to get what he wanted.

"Not sure… I think he's cursed… not the same curse according to the medical files, but something is controlling him, like an _Imperius_. He broke it long enough to give me this." Harry leaned over and placed a filthy little paper on the table before Draco. On it was scrawled the word _Mexico_.

"What does this mean?" Draco asked. None of it made sense, but he was sure it would have made more sense if he hadn't partaken in so much decadence that evening. His brain was addled and the rich wine had caused him to grow sleepy.

"I was hoping you could help me make some sense out of it," Harry said, by now his words blurring together in a thick, alcoholic ripple. "But there's more. Isn't there always more?" Harry's chuckle was dry. "Something's off with the Ministry. I don't know what it is but the best way I can describe it is if you stand below a Muggle power station and you feel the electricity in the air. Like that. But more subtle. And something's funky with the Minister. Not sure if this all connects, but…" he shrugged.

Draco's eyes had been drooping slightly but he viciously shook his head at the new revelation, tossing his hair more than was dignified. "Shite. Potter, this is big. Unfortunately, I think," he took a sip of wine, "it would make more sense in the morning." He nodded to himself, as if confirming a universal truth.

Harry just stared at him, a slightly distracted look to those usually brilliant eyes. With a quick blink he seemed to snap out of his daze. "You're probably right," he agreed, his previous exuberance waning. "Wanna call it a night and meet in the morning?" Harry dropped the spells surrounding them with a blink of his eye and called for the bill.

Draco knew this was a wise choice, but he enjoyed listening to the pile of clues and facts that fit into some grander scheme, enjoyed spending time with someone who didn't think of him as a boss or someone to suck up to. Didn't think of him as a Death Eater. He enjoyed being with Harry. Damn, he was drunk.

"Yeah. I'll Floo over in the morning," Draco said as he stood.

The waiter arrived with the bill and a queer look at the two men. Harry just smiled brightly at the man who quickly smiled back as he walked away. To Draco, Harry said, "Sometimes they seem shocked to realise I was there the entire time when I conceal myself in a public place." Then he noticed the bill. "Hell Draco… this definitely makes us even." And with another broad smile, this time directed at Draco, he dropped a rather impressive pile of Galleons on the table.

"Well, see ya tomorrow," he said. There was a pregnant pause full of expectancy. Draco noticed Harry's eyes kept dropping to the table, or his hands, not meeting his own.

"Good night, Harry. And thank you. For dinner." Draco thought he sounded like a blubbering fool, but when Harry finally met his eyes and delivered another brilliant smile, Draco was sure it was worth it. Harry's smiles had become more desirable than cases of the fine wines they'd just enjoyed.

"Good night, Draco." Harry Disapparated away. Draco stood there a few moments longer, staring at the spot only seconds before occupied by Harry. Then he too Disapparated.

* * *

He hungered… or thirsted if you wanted to be technical about it. But Remus wasn't about to give into any basal needs such as sweet liquor trailing down his willing tongue… _STOP_. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

For a blazing, burning, terrible five days he'd remained sober. Every time an urge to drink would overtake him, he would grab his plunger, leave the flat and wander the streets of London. The combination of plunger and wandering seemed to take his mind off his demanding vice. He hoped it would continue to work as the moon grew full and his control slipped. Damn, what he would give for some Wolfsbane Potion.

Harry had asked him to find Millicent Bulstrode and while most of his connections were a bit rusty, he still had some friends on the nark side of Britain who he hoped would help him.

It took him some time to find an old associate. Most seemed to have moved to new hunting grounds as the old ones became less safe or others just offered more promise. Through Mundungus Fletcher he discovered a new haunt for the spooks, The Devil's Hook. It sat in a seedy part of London that wasn't quite a wizarding section, but housed quite a collection of wizard shops nonetheless. If it continued to grow at this consistent rate, it would eventually rival Knockturn Alley. Just what London needed.

So, as his body screamed for him to feed it what it wanted, what it needed_—I can hold on… I fight the wolf, do I not? This is nothing—_ he staunchly ignored it and entered The Devil's Hook.

It had been a long time, since the war really, that he had frequented a rat trap like this dive. His sensitive nose quivered against the stench of warm beer and rancid bodies. Even in the low light he could see the whites of many eyes swivel in his direction. He was a newcomer, someone to avoid.

He strode up to the bar with confidence and ordered tonic water. His nerve endings sang for a shot of something, anything hard, but he bit down on it, bullied it and dominated it into submission. He was the master here.

But Merlin it was difficult.

He took a seat in the back of the dive, drawing less attention from the other patrons. Scanning the crowd he recognized a few faces and one of them actually made eye contact. He stood and wandered to the inhabited table.

"Duncan," Remus said with a nod.

"Alright Lupin? Ya been missing for a while." Duncan pronounced things with a long drawl. His frame looked exceptionally thin and his face painfully gaunt. Everything about the man was stretched.

"You could say that." He took a sip from his glass and winced. It was terrible. He set the glass down on the scarred and scorched table. "What's new?"

"Ya back in the gathering business?" Duncan asked, gesturing that Remus should take a seat.

Remus casually pulled the chair from the table and sat in it. It never looked good to act too eager. "Been removed from the world so long, just curious."

"Yeah, right." Duncan laughed. He pronounced the word 'yeauw'. "You know somethin's up. Ya gots a nose fer it."

Remus grinned, shaking his head. He knew how to play the game. Tigus Duncan wasn't a man you screwed with and he never gave up anything for free. But he had his own sense of honour and Remus understood that.

"Well, I've heard a thing or two and wanted to know if there was any truth to it."

"What ya hear?"

"Some old pals getting together for a reunion." Remus lifted his glass again, more to keep his hands occupied, to cultivate a careless manner, than to bring the swill to his lips.

"Ya don't say?"

"It's what I heard."

Duncan harrumphed and sat back in his chair. A few people watched them cautiously from the bar and from a long line of tables to the left where figures sat shadowed in secrets and lies. Remus almost missed this.

"Well," Duncan said, drawing the word out in two syllables, "why don't ya meet me out back in a few?"

Remus nodded and looked away, cataloguing who was watching them as Duncan stood and left the Hook. One man wouldn't take his eyes off Remus. The man's name didn't immediately emerge from his faded memory but Remus did recognize him. A true salesman. Anything for sale to anyone. With a feral glare and a twitch to his lip he stared the man down and then left before anyone else pegged who he was.

He walked around the block and soon arrived at the back of the bar. Duncan stood to one side, a hat pulled low over his forehead. "Let's go," Remus said, and they walked down the alley, dodging overturned trashcans and piles of rubbish. There was an overpowering scent of piss in the air.

"What do you know?" he asked Duncan under his breath.

"What do'ya plan on doing with the info, buddy? The war's over."

"I know… this is personal."

"It'll cost ya… "

"Tell me what you know and I'll pay you what it's worth." Remus jangled his pocket, sounding the Galleons resting there, all from Sirius' old vault, now in Harry's name.

"Sure, some of yer old pals had met, but it ain't nothin'. Fact, I don't think they're meeting much anymore, maybe fer a game of pinochle now and then."

"Why?"

"Someone gathered 'em. Someone who made promises." Duncan cleared his throat. "Promises that were sweet but turned sour when broke."

"And…" Remus knew there was more that Duncan wasn't saying… he could smell it off him through the stink of urine.

"Somethin' happened to the people who showed. Some of 'em went squib. They say it were a Ministry plot to try to destroy the power behind the purebloods and old supporters of You- Know-Who." Duncan whispered low but Remus heard every word.

"Went squib? As in lost their magic?" That's what happened to Bulstrode. Remus was on the right track.

"Yup."

"Do you know anyone that this happened to?"

"Lots of 'em. But they all got it back. Though if rumor's right," Duncan looked nervous, "it ain't come back full."

"You?" Remus guessed.

Duncan looked away, refusing to answer.

"Do you know if a witch was there, large witch with thick, black hair… Bulstrode. Millicent Bulstrode?"

The blood from Duncan's face seemed to have decided there were better places to be and drained away. "What ya getting' at, Lupin?" Duncan demanded, words pressed through gritted teeth.

Remus shook his head, he hadn't expected that reaction. "What do you know? I need to speak with her."

"Ain't no speakin' with her no more. She's dead."

"What!" Remus said a little too loudly.

"I can't talk no more. Keep yer money and keep out of it." Duncan turned away towards the alley exit.

Remus grabbed Duncan's arm and kept hold as the man tried to pull away. "You've all been cursed, Duncan. I think Bulstrode was one of the first."

"She talked and now she's dead. I ain't talkin' no more." His accent deepened as the man's dread strengthened.

"Who was it? Who asked you to the meeting? Please, Duncan!" Remus whispered frantically.

"Dunno where it came from. It were all word of mouth. I heard from a friend who heard from someone else. Ya know how it goes, Lupin."

"Was there anyone at the meeting who didn't fit?"

Duncan stopped a moment, the panic lifting as he searched his memory. "Yea. A few folks I hadn't met. One guy really stood out to me, though he tried his damnedest to fit in. Everyone else seemed to accept him, but he set off my alarm bells, ya know what I mean?" Those last few words all blended together into one large clump of sound. "It were like he knew he didn't belong. Plus he had real short hair, like a Muggle military man."

Gears shifted in Remus' brain. Didn't Harry tell him about an Auror who was out to get him with very short hair? The man must have been there undercover. But still, Remus thought it might be an interesting point to pass on.

"Listen, Duncan… If there's anything else… This could be very, very important. You know how to contact me if you think of anything else."

Duncan nodded and Remus let him go. "Sure Lupin, but don't count on it." The other man darted through the debris in the alley and out of sight.

* * *

About the time Draco Flooed to Hermione's flat--now more accurately the Harry and Remus residence--Remus, who had already risen, was frying breakfast. There was no sign of Harry.

"Lupin," Draco greeted.

"Good morning, Malfoy. Would you like some bacon?" Remus offered. He seemed gruff to Draco, but what did he expect from a werewolf, especially only a week away from the full moon.

"Just bacon?" he asked.

"I like bacon. I could make something else…" Remus said.

"No, a slice of bacon would be nice."

The two sat down at the table, Draco with a slice of bacon and Remus with a pile. With feral relish Remus dove into the plate of pork with his fingers. Draco watched him out of the corner of his eye and carefully cut up his slice with a knife and fork.

"So," Draco broke through the sound of crunching, "where is Potter anyway?"

"Sleeping," Remus said between mouthfuls, finally slowing down after about eight pieces, not that Draco was counting.

"Still? It's 9 a.m. Does he plan on sleeping through our meeting?"

Remus looked up at Draco, licking a finger. "I could wake him if you'd like. He returned home later than even I did, though. I haven't had a chance to tell him what I found out."

Draco thought about last night and his features softened. They had been out fairly late. He had enjoyed himself with Harry. Remus glanced at him curiously, lips glistening with fat, and Draco quickly schooled himself.

"And did you find out anything worthwhile last night?" Draco asked. "And do you mind…" Remus' table manners had finally been too much.

With a completely sheepish look, which was amusing for a werewolf, Remus put down his bacon, wiped off his hands on a paper napkin and apologized. "I'm sorry. Sometimes near the full moon…" he shrugged. His hazel eyes seemed twitchy; in fact after Draco paused to actually look at Remus, he noticed the man seemed quite agitated.

"Are the changes worse?" he asked, purely out of scientific curiosity, he told himself.

"What?" Remus seemed startled. "Yes. They are." He was very matter of fact about it.

"Does the Wolfsbane not help anymore?"

A cloud crossed Remus' brow. "Wolfsbane! What Wolfsbane? That formula died with Severus."

"Um, well actually it didn't," said Draco.

"What?" Remus stood and leaned over the table towards Draco. "What do you mean?" Remus grew louder with each word.

"I know how to brew it," Draco said in a calm voice as the werewolf loomed over him.

Remus' face immediately blanked, and he plunked down in his chair rather unceremoniously. His eyes did not move from Draco. A very heavy silence settled between the two.

Then, both men spoke.

"Would you like me to beg?" Remus growled.

"Would you like me to make it for you?" offered Draco.

Another pause, not quite so long. "Yes."

"I will then."

"Thank you," came the shocked reply.

"It's not a problem," Draco said.

Too much rushed through Draco's mind. Remus had been going through those terrible metamorphic changes all these years, no wonder he had been losing control. And nobody thought to ask him if he could make it—Potion Master Snape's prize student. But then again, he hadn't offered. This man before him had lost so much and Draco had always sneered with disgust at him… treated him as less than a wizard… less than human.

He'd lost perhaps even more than Draco, who never had anyone to love except for his beautiful mother, twisted with desire for power. But on a few occasions he had seen Nymphadora Tonks with the mangy man and they were happy. But his cousin was gone….

He remembered it too well, had watched it all.

McNair drove an Iron Spike hex at his cousin, as she dodged another hex thrown at her by a wizard he only vaguely remembered. "_Ferrous Impolentae_," the older man screamed as the spiked daggers flew from his wand towards the already battered woman. She had no time to strengthen her shield before the first spike drove itself into her thigh, after that there was little she could do as the iron rained down.

Draco had stood on a bald hill only highlighted by a few nude trees. He and Severus poised above the fighting, waiting, watching the brutal clash of wizards as person after person he knew or recognized fell in the onslaught, making him painfully aware of his choices. The rain pummeled them on that cold, autumn day. Draco had constantly wiped the drops out of his eyes as he continued to watch the final battle of the greatest war of this era, Severus Snape by his side, waiting for the right moment.

It wasn't long before Remus appeared by Tonks' side, Draco remembered, cradling her broken body, emptying wounds coating the battlefield in blood. The phantom spikes had long since disappeared. Draco couldn't help but mourn her loss. She was an amazing woman and a witch with rare talents until the day her body drained dry.

He remembered looking down upon that empire of broken possibilities.

But, he had to wait. It was not his time to act, he knew that, but even then it hadn't made it any easier.

Soft words from behind him pulled him out of his reverie. "I didn't know you could brew it." It was Harry. Harry had heard the entire thing and Draco squirmed under that knowledge.

Draco turned to look at the tousled looking man, sleep lines still imbedded in his face. His eyes were wide. He looked so vulnerable. "Severus taught me how to brew all of his patented potions." Draco wanted to explain. He hadn't kept this knowledge to cause Remus pain… he just didn't know. And the fact that he actually cared did not go unnoticed. "He left everything of value to me including his research, library, dark arts collection and home. Though the home left much to be desired," he added.

Nobody said anything for quite some time.

"Well," Harry said, breaking the lull, "did you have time to think about everything from last night?"

"Before you start," interrupted Remus, "let me tell you about my night, and then you two can fill me in on yours."

"This is going to take a while. I'll make some tea." Draco stood, turning to the cupboard that held the tea. Another day with Potter. Perhaps it would be a good day. Perhaps there were new possibilities he hadn't even considered.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** This is another back story chapter. I think it helps flesh out our lovely characters as well as gives some good history to my story. I hope you don't feel annoyed at more back story! ;)

**Chapter 12**  
_"We were once young and blessed with wings"  
__VNV Nation – Beloved_

The three men spent the better part of the day together. Harry replayed his entire report repeating everything he'd already told Draco, not only for Remus' benefit, but also his own. This time wine played no part in their conference. Remus filled them in on what he found out from Duncan. Nobody was happy to hear of Millicent's death, but none of them were surprised either. Draco told the two men about his meeting with Madame Hexine, the Ancient Magic professor at Cambridge, that had taken place a few days ago. As an old family friend, Draco was able to see her without an appointment, an honour beyond the reach of lesser men.

"Madame Hexine was certain that this curse came from very old roots, if it isn't very old in and of itself. And she seems to think it cannot be cast via straight spellwork either, unless the individual controlled exceptional power." Draco eyed Harry, a look of contemplation softening his features.

Remus chuckled and said, "And I think the most powerful wizard of the day wouldn't cast such a spell." Harry looked away and blushed. Harry doubted he was the most powerful wizard of the day, but without Dumbledore or Voldemort in the running, he knew he was probably in the top ten. Luckily for the world, he had an unflinching set of morals.

"Based on the specifics I gave her, she didn't know exactly what the base formulae for the curse might be, or what kind of artefact it might herald from. However, she did tell me she had come across similar magical systems from some items she examined from South America."

Harry nodded. "Yea, Hermione's notes mentioned a scholar to talk to in Costa Rica and when I mentioned 'South American artefact', dickhead Arbormore got more twitchy than he already was. I think that's my next step. I told Ron I would go down there and help him with his case at any rate."

As the day slowly faded, the three men exchanged information, food and finally memories. Soon after the war the only thing anyone would talk about _was_ the war. Which battle they knew anything about, whom they knew who fell on those rolling hills or came out a hero. Nobody who actually fought talked about it, but instead buried the pain and horror deep within. Now, talk about the darker side, of all the death and curses, was rare, and people only obsessed over the fact that they won, no matter which side they might have been on.

Harry had only ever talked about his final battle once, with Ron and Hermione after he awoke in the combat infirmary set up on the battlefield. His telling was full of holes and both of his friends knew better than to push. Remus had nobody to tell the specifics to, keeping his sorrow at a boiling point for years. And Draco feared to tell anyone. Some knew of his role, such as Kingsley, but nobody knew of his horror. And as each man shared that which had never seen the light of day, something broke in them. Something different for each.

But something was mended as well.

* * *

Each one of them felt exhausted from the three week standoff. Remus had been working closely with Mad-Eye, Tonks and Arthur Weasley and on that final day all three were caught in a small ravine near the Death Eaters' stronghold. Each had a different plan to escape their situation and return to the main body of allies, but nobody could agree on which had the highest probability of success. Remus needed to hurry; he had somewhere he had to be. They had to make a break for it soon.

Moody presented the strongest argument.

"We can't stay here; we're sitting ducks just ready for an area-affecting hex. We should team up, two and two and work our way out." A flash of purple light hit a deepening scorch mark on the rock face behind them. Tonks flinched as a shower of stone fragments came down.

Remus hated that she was in danger. Ever since they had come together he felt an overwhelming sense of protection over her. But his logical side realised they needed every able fighter and Tonks was more than adequate at her job, if a little clumsy at times. But every time she got wounded his stomach churned; every time she went out on a dangerous mission, he only wanted to scream.

"Fine," Arthur finally agreed. Gesturing to Mad-Eye, he said, "You and I will climb up on the left and Remus and Tonks can escape on the right through the forest. Each group will wait at the rock pile by the birch trees for a maximum of fifteen minutes before they continue on to the main camp. If the others don't show, move on." Remus nodded. He, more than anyone else here, knew how important it was that he reach the ritual site. He wouldn't wait. He had created the Suppression Net ritual with Hermione and it had to be thirteen. One person less and he wasn't certain it would hold Voldemort. Luckily they did have substitutes trained, but Remus did not want to miss it. He needed to ensure that everything was in place, that the spell was correctly cast.

"I don't like it. I won't leave you guys," Tonks argued. She hated the plan and wanted to keep everyone together.

"Sweetheart," Remus grabbed her hand and tried to convince her. "We make less of a target this way. We _all_ have better chances this way."

Tonks dropped her head in defeat and Remus just wanted to hold her, to make it all go away. But he had no such power. _Harry, we have to get Harry his opportunity_. _We have to feed the ritual. _He knew Harry was ready. He'd been helping train him over the last few years and the time was nigh. Harry needed to make his move now because Voldemort was scrambling to gather as much power as possible now that his Horcruxes had been destroyed. Waste much more time and Voldemort would be unstoppable.

Moody's eye swiveled to the back of his head and swirled in an encompassing arc, surveying their surroundings. "It's clear. Let's go."

Each Order member nodded at the others and split for their separate directions.

Remus and Tonks scrambled up the rocky wall of the ravine, moving as quickly as the terrain allowed. The dense undergrowth impeded any fast progression but they eventually made it to the top without one curse thrown at them.

Too early for celebration.

"Down!" Remus yelled as a new bombardment of spells pinned them to an outcropping.

Tonks dove for the ground alongside Remus, but she tripped on a fallen branch and flew beyond the protection of the cliff. Immediately screams tore from her vocal cords following a gruff _"Crucio_."

"Ah, look at the pretty girly I found here. Don't s'pose another pretty thing's hiding 'round, now is there?"

Remus recognized this voice, rough and brutish. He couldn't leave Nymphadora out there to this animal's handiwork.

"Greyback…" Remus called from his hiding spot. "Let her go and you and I can finally settle this."

"Let her go?" the greying werewolf barked. "Why would I do that, silly little man? I've you both. Hmm, doesn't she look delicious, just delicious…?"

Sometimes Remus wished he could change into the wolf at will. Right now he thought nothing would be more justified than to rip Greyback apart with tooth and claw.

The shadows around him faded as the clouds thickened. He had to move now, or who knew what would happen to Tonks. He stepped out from behind his cover, wand held high, a protective anger burning within. The old werewolf stood hunched, wild, a heartless light glowing from his eyes. His wand was pointed at Tonks as she writhed amidst the ferns.

"_Finite Incantatum_." She grew quiet; her only sound a gasping breath as the Cruciatus Curse abruptly ended.

"Remus… Little Remus Lupin. Bit by a savage monster when he was just a wee lad. Hmm, but so, so tasty." Greyback laughed and licked his lips.

Remus eyed the huge, rangy man. There was no way he could overpower this werewolf, this man gone feral. But something had to be done and Remus always was quick on his feet. "_Expelliarmus_," he screamed the incantation, hoping to catch the man unaware and to distract him from the recovering Tonks. Then he leapt.

The force of his impact into Greyback sent them both sprawling onto the forest floor. "Go," Remus screamed to Tonks who was just rising to her feet. "You have to get out there in my place. They need thirteen."

Tonks looked over at Remus and Greyback, thrashing in the low underbrush beneath the thin trees. Her eyes met his and Remus was proud that she didn't cry or argue. She nodded and turned her back on him. His last glimpse was of her short, green hair and torn robes as she raced through the forest.

His last look of her alive.

The two men thrashed, Greyback's long, yellowed nails scraping new scars across Remus' skin and his teeth sinking into Remus' bony shoulder seizing the nerves in his left arm. Time raced, became something abstract and formless as the impending ritual weighed heavy on his distracted mind. With a knee to the other man's groin Remus bought himself time to pull his blade from its sheath strapped to his thigh—six inch long tempered steel bought from Cabela's Online.

There was something right about killing the man who cursed him with a blade, without magic. He didn't deserve magic.

With in an insurgent scream he thrust down with the knife, striking the soft tissue of the werewolf's throat, cutting open a path from ear to ear, like a south-of-the-border Glasgow smile.

Remus jumped to his feet, his shoulder bleeding, ripped open, and bloody gashes crisscrossed all over his face. He looked down at the twitching form of Fenrir Greyback, the body apparently not realizing the brain no longer lived. He panted from the exertion but knew he had no time to rest. A few healing charms stilled the blood flow and a precise _Incendio_ stilled the body.

Remus left for the rock pile, dodging small troupes of Death Eaters, and when he arrived he was not surprised to see that nobody was there. Burnt into one large boulder were the initials NT. Relief washed over him, knowing she had made it and moved on to the ritual site.

He burned his own initials in the stone next to hers. They glowed slightly with the magic and then faded into dull gray. He turned and followed her path.

But the relief was short lived and the anguish left behind rooted itself in the very marrow of his bones as he cradled her body on the battlefield that day.

* * *

Everything etched itself vividly in Draco's memory, from the fireworks of spell flashes lighting the encroaching night to the smell of metal and acid in the air. He remembered that the dying grass once covering the fertile hills had been ripped up, leaving potholes and ankle twisters hiding in wait. He remembered that the mud and blood blended together until they evolved into something entirely separate and new. He remembered the rain fell steadily through it all, unmoved by the desperation and fear.

He and Severus had developed a new ritual to weaken the Dark Lord using his stolen blood. The Order had their own strategy to aid in ultimately ending Voldemort's twisted existence as well. The plans were delicate, but he knew they could pull it all off, assuming nobody blundered. He wasn't normally bent to such optimism, but he didn't have anything else to hope for.

He was just thankful he had nothing left to lose.

The two men stood on a hill alone, away from the battle close to the forest's edge. Severus kept watch on a small _nkisi_ carving of the Dark Lord he held in his left hand, his wand circling over it as he recited the lengthy spell. Draco stood poised, one eye set on the blood-laden potion ready to pour over the carving and another keeping watch for attack. An attack that could come from either side.

They were all ready. Just waiting for the right moment.

Draco remembered it all. He remembered Tonks' death and Remus' lament. He remembered his father's bloody destruction as he was overwhelmed by four Aurors. His cold memory reflected the fall of wizard after wizard, all fighting for some cause they had long ago forgotten as the pain became their entire world.

He remembered a challenge on the air. "Tom!" And the arrival of Harry Potter.

It was almost time.

Then it came, the Killing Curse which was the impetus to their entire plan. Severus sent out his trigger spells to unknown members of the Order and looked to Draco, who began pouring the potion, mixed with Griffin tears and the Dark Lord's blood, over the _nkisi_ doll.

The rain dampened any other words that might have been carried by the wind from those two duelling enemies. Draco watched as one man, tall and thin, a zombie caricature and the other shorter, stockier, pacing like a panther ready to pounce, cast curse after hex at each other, trying to find a hole in their bulwark of magic and desperation.

It was all up to Harry now. Severus stuffed the carving into his pocket and the two spies stood watch, guarding Harry's back.

Draco watched as the two wizards wore each other down. The rest of the battlefield had grown quiet, not because anyone else was watching, but because most were either dead or had fallen to exhaustion. It was a field of ghosts and perpetual rain all bound by the scent of blood and curses. He would forever remember that smell.

And it was while his back was turned from the two battling wizards, while he surveyed the opposite side of his station on the hill to assure nobody crept upon them, that he heard a muttered, "Merlin be damned," and Severus was gone, rushing across the field to intercept two black clad Death Eaters running to aid their Lord. They didn't seem to notice Severus, or even consider him dangerous, perhaps due to his own uniform establishing him as a follower of Voldemort, until Severus lifted his wand and cast Killing Curse after Killing Curse, taking down the threats to their plan.

Severus hadn't noticed the half dead, red-headed man limp against the hillside. He didn't notice the man lift a wand and send out another curse, all green and glowing and signifying oblivion. But Draco saw. He watched everything as the light flew towards Severus' back just as that same light left his mentor's own wand to save the life of Harry Potter.

It was the last thing Arthur Weasley ever did and it drained him of all he had left.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Draco stripped off his Death Eater garb and dashed amidst the hills and grass. _This can't be. This can't be. Not him._ He dropped to his knees beside his mentor, his friend, the only sane influence guiding him from childhood to his place as an adult. "Severus!" he screamed.

The rain beat down, drowning out his wails and curses, draining the invective from his lips, soaking it into the black earth below. His eyes stung and he closed them tight against the world. There were no tears on his face. A Malfoy didn't cry.

* * *

Waiting was one of Harry's foremost personal vexations and he felt for the last four years all he'd been doing was waiting. Sure there were skirmishes, conflicts, plenty of battle plans prepared and unleashed, but it really was all aimed at this one fight. He and Voldemort. Hero and Villain. Promise of a future and resignation to an archaic past. For all of wizarding and Muggle kind, Harry knew he could not fail.

But he had to wait. The plans, all of their intricate devices, had to play themselves out in this macabre parody of his life before he could act. And so he stood there under a dense copse of evergreens and ash, rain drenching the rolling hills torn under the feet of hundreds of wizards and witches. The cold glow of the sun, already hanging low in the sky, was hidden by clouds, casting faint but long shadows of bare branched trees, skeletal in their guise of mortality. It was picture perfect mayhem.

He wiped his face of the cold rain, a large drop dangling from the end of his nose, grumbling that the worst battle of the century hadn't happened on a beautiful spring morning instead of this bleary autumn day. He was soaked through, no energy to spare for a simple weatherproofing charm. He had to focus. He had to concentrate. He had to be ready.

He felt a damp hand grasp his right and another rest gently on his left shoulder.

"You ready, Harry?" Harry glanced over to Ron, then to his other side to Hermione.

"Will I ever be? I just want it to be over." He wanted to be free of his inexorable fate. He felt he had never tasted freedom before and he hungered for its rich flavor now.

"Time to go, Harry," Hermione said.

"I know. Good luck guys."

"You too." Hermione had tears in her eyes. It has been months since she last cried on the battlefield. She was strong: her will, her sense of self, her determination, but also her love. And it was that love that released those tears. Harry leaned over and kissed her chastely on her moist lips. Then he faced Ron and kissed him as well. Finally he turned towards the war zone and strode out onto the bloody field.

His shielding spells and defensive measures were already primed, humming with magical energy. Over the last four years Harry had learned not only non-verbal and wandless spellwork, but also how to harness his incredible power, to reach deep down inside and understand himself and how the pure essence of magic worked. He could harness the untamable. Break even magical rules.

But so could Voldemort.

So with one last thought to unnamed gods, he embraced this final phase of his life. He knew he had to _win_, but he didn't have that same assurance that he had to _live_ and with the resignation in this mind, he challenged the Dark Lord with the dauntless courage of a Gryffindor.

"Tom!"

Voldemort stood tall on the top of a small hillock and turned to face Harry.

"Ah, Harry Potter. We finally meet, again. So good of you to join us in thisss…" the hissing words sent shivers up Harry's spine… "beautiful tribute to my uncontested coronation of power." Voldemort turned away from Harry, fanning his arms towards the carnage below them and eventually faced Harry once more.

Harry noticed that the man looked even less human than before, his body degenerating into more reptile and less primate. His waxy complexion shimmered in the rain, his eyes flat and reddish black, reflecting nothing, not even the flames as wintering trees blazed all around them.

He also wondered in awe just how full of himself the deranged psychopath really was.

"But this is no time for soliloquy. Time for you to DIE! _Avada Kedavra_!" A jet of green light wooshed towards Harry, but he was ready. Voldermort was nothing if not predictable. With a pop Harry Disapparated and reappeared on the opposite side of the evil Lord.

The plan was finally set in motion.

Everybody had a part and every part was important. Ron and Hermione bolted from their spot in the trees and joined in with other Order members and recent graduates from Hogwarts including Ginny, Hannah and Neville. Seamus, Blaise and so many more were already on the battlefield, fighting to create distraction, fighting for their lives.

Harry knew that Ron and Hermione were joining with others around a huge cauldron. Their ritual was imperative. Thirteen witches and wizards were casting a magical net over the battlefield disallowing any escape of their enemy, either through Apparition or more importantly, displacement of the soul. His very essence would be trapped in the Net. Voldemort would never rise again.

Most details of the battle faded from Harry's memory. Their sortie was fast and exhausting, he constantly felt like he was scrambling just to stay one step ahead of the more experienced wizard. But one step was enough.

He just had to wait for the rituals. More waiting. Waiting, poised on the brink of death and destruction. He could do this.

And as he danced in this counterfeit tango with the embodiment of evil as his partner, as those curses struck him repeatedly, his shields wore thin. Dodging one hex, he twisted an ankle on the uneven ground, but did not go down. He couldn't afford such weakness. On he fought.

Time was mutable; he understood this now. He also knew it didn't last forever and as the final linchpin had finally been plucked, he heard the one word he had been waiting for, tucked away deep in his hidden mind, _Now_. It came in Snape's sardonic tone. It was the moment he had been waiting for and it had been a message from Snape. Harry couldn't help the bubble of amusement at how ironically fate played him.

More hexes, more spells, more scrapes with death, but he finally saw his moment, the small chink in Voldemort's defenses.

And with a deep breath he called out the final spell that would end Voldemort forever. A spell created by the forces of light and dark and cast by the prophesied Boy Who Lived.

_"Rictus Morte_," Harry screamed into the evening air.

There were no sparks, no flashy lights, just a stream of magic billowing from his wand, from his hand and from his very soul. It swallowed and engulfed the Dark Lord, embracing him like a tender lover.

As Voldemort's body fell, pristine and untouched, clean in a gentleman's execution, the rain kept falling and the sun slid over the western sky pulling the light along with it over the edge of the earth.

Harry stood heavy on his left leg, wand held limply at his side, eyes glued on the fallen form. A moment passed. And then another. And finally Harry drew in a shocked breath, a wave of tension shuddering through his body as he fell to his knees, wand silently dropping to the churned ground under his feet.

The hills were littered. They paid a heavy toll during the final battle; his eyes danced upon the contorted faces of his friends and comrades forever frozen in the struggle against the Dark Lord's forces, a memorial to all that was sacrificed for peace.

His shoulders shook and his lungs spasmed as he wailed into the silent night, salty tears mingling with the cleansing rain as he faded into the exhausted darkness.

* * *

"I remember Ron and Hermione running into the infirmary, yelling and screaming 'You're alive' and 'You destroyed him' and all I wanted to do was fade away." As Harry finished his story, the first telling of it in its entirety, the old sorrow roiled about, but it didn't weigh him down as it had before. He looked up and held those gray and amber eyes and felt he understood these men better. Understood himself better.

"I had no idea about Severus—He died for… Mr. Weasley ki… Don't tell Ron, okay." Unfinished thoughts fought for release, but Harry couldn't put the words together.

Draco nodded.

"He was always looking out for me, saving my life. And I hated him." Guilt could be an overpowering force. Draco reached out and touched his shoulder. It wasn't one of those friendly slaps on the back like Ron always gave him. This was more. Draco's hand lingered, almost a caress full of compassion and understanding.

"Harry, I highly doubt your animosity causes him to roll over in his grave," Draco said.

"Well, I don't hate him anymore. Haven't really, not for a while." When did he stop hating Snape? Or Draco for that matter. The hand remained, sparking tingles down Harry's spine he hadn't felt in quite some time.

"Now that," Remus said, "might cause him to roll over in his grave."

The three men laughed. The hand reluctantly pulled away, sliding down his arm a few inches, leaving it bereft of touch.

"Well, I should go," Draco said. Harry didn't think that Draco looked all that interested in leaving. "If the Wolfsbane Potion is going to be of any help, you need to ingest a dose by tomorrow."

"Do you need any help?" Harry found himself offering. He wasn't quite ready to have Draco removed from his presence. He realised he enjoyed the man's company, enjoyed the intense look in his eyes.

"Potter, you want to help me with a highly delicate potion with which your friend will be treated?" Draco chuckled at the idea and Harry, while disappointed, laughed in shy agreement. Remus inhaled, looked about to speak, but shut his mouth with an audible 'click'.

"Fine. And thanks for brewing it," Harry said.

"Yes," Remus added. "Thank you. Let me know about the cost too; I won't have you brewing the potion for free."

Draco sized up Remus; Harry could see the gears whirring in the blond's brain. "I'll come up with appropriate recompense, Lupin." Remus nodded and Draco finally Flooed home.

Harry and Remus shared a look. Harry blushed, if only slightly, at the knowing gaze Remus shot his way. "Well, it seems Mr. Draco Malfoy didn't turn out so bad, now did he."

Harry's blush deepened. "I guess he didn't live up to his potential," Harry joked, but Remus wouldn't drop his smirk, his frustrating, knowing smirk.

"Night Harry. It's been a long day." Remus left to gather his blankets and make his bed on the couch. Harry wasn't sleepy and he needed to think. Draco? Could he be reading him wrong?

* * *

Harry lay on the rough roof, staring into the cloudless, night sky. It had warmed over the last few days; the air was stagnant, still, just like his thoughts which mulled over only one topic.

Draco.

Well maybe two topics.

Did he want to take this chance?

His mind kept returning to Draco, his nemesis, his Moriarty. When had things changed? Harry couldn't put his finger on it, try as he might. Perhaps the exact point in time wasn't that, exact, and it was the little things that brought him to this point. Draco's help, his smile, his touch.

Harry felt that he was at a precipice in the pitch black of night. Did he continue to walk forward? He felt ready to take that one step into the unknown, his foot hovering in space ready to see if it landed in void and he fell forever or a sturdy path and strong arms were there to catch him. He wanted to take that step. He wanted to know what would happen next. It was his next great event.

Did he vanquish the Dark Lord only to live the rest of his life in the gloom?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** We are now in Mexico! Thus starts the Mexico Arc, which turns into the Dungeon Crawl. I find it amusing that my story has different segments. It's become a monster. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 13**  
_"I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change."  
__Relient K – Who I am Hates Who I've been_

For the first time in his entire life, Remus wasn't racked with agony the morning after, didn't feel like someone had ripped him apart and reformed him with bits and pieces missing, left behind by a careless Frankenstein. Well, perhaps not his entire life, but definitely it'd been long enough that he praised the Wolfsbane with repeated mumbles. He still returned to the castle in Scotland for the transformation, locking himself in the dungeon behind lifeless iron and potent wards, obscuring the outside world to cut off the wolf's desire to run and be free. But this time the wolf didn't have any desire. His animal side, his monster, didn't struggle, didn't fight for dominance. He just lay down inside of Remus with casual submission, gave up his body and let Remus run the show. It was astounding.

It was a relief.

And with the absence of struggle—struggle against the wolf and struggle against the demon from the grain—he was visited again.

He hadn't been haunted by any of those ethereal dreams of Sirius for weeks, those vague, shadowed visions. He didn't remember much of it, only that he and Padfoot had run together, racing over hills and through tall grass. Then they had wrestled and Moony subdued Padfoot, as he always did, but then Padfoot licked him, slathering him all over his muzzle, his ears, his throat and Moony allowed it. It was nice to be touched again, if only by phantom memories.

His heart ached. He missed Padfoot.

But the most tangible portion of the dream that stuck with him in the rising light was one word. Mexico. Sirius had told him to go to Mexico. Padfoot did not actually speak; the word just appeared within his thoughts, injected with hypodermic ease.

Talk about a raging subconscious. Remus snorted. Too many days discussing their plans to go to Latin America must have overridden his usual wolfish dreams of chasing rabbits. But if something had to be raging, at least it wasn't his libido. He had no outlet for that, no dream arms to embrace him, only playful licks from dead friends. Sadly, he realised he hadn't dreamed of Tonks in months.

He stood and stretched his spine; a quick report of popping broke the silence of the damp cell. He laughed he felt so good. Even though the Wolfsbane tasted foul, he would drink a gallon of it for this kind of effect.

He dropped the wards and quickly unlocked the ancient door. Shivering, he clothed himself with items he had left outside the cell then Apparated to Hermione's. Now that the full moon had passed, growing thinner as it continued its revolution around the earth, he would be meeting Harry down in Mexico, who'd been down there a few days, and then they were off to Costa Rica to meet a scholar.

* * *

Draco stood in the centre of a dimly lit room, the air dank and chilly, smelling of old leather and wet stone. Piled high in bookcases and curio stands, on tables and racks lining the walls, existed perhaps Britain's largest Dark Artefact collection, hidden in the basement of Rain.

He knew each and every item, had studied their function, their history. They were perhaps the greatest legacy Severus had left behind, other than Draco's life and purpose.

These things, these precious, delicate and dangerous works of art haunted him with their intentions. The cursed Dagger of Lord Baden from the thirteenth century that is said to steal the soul out of any being it kills with the ease of a Dementor's kiss. The deadly embrace of the Statue de Ladier, which was designed to come alive and crush home intruders, but it eventually turned on its creator, leaving behind a broken man. Poisoned tea cups, deadly books, feathers, rods, and not to mention the candles, coins and tapestries all used in the Dark Arts. It was a collection his father would have envied, if his father hadn't lost himself in those serpentine eyes.

The power behind the objects saturated the air of the room. It would have infiltrated the stonework, etched itself into the sturdy foundation of Rain if it were not for the containment spells woven into the very mortar. The Ministry didn't know of its existence and the collection was the one thing Draco chanced their wrath over. He would never part with it, this connection to Severus.

But they didn't _belong_ to him, these relics full of darkness and evil. Such ownership was no longer his desire. He would never harness their power, or use them to their fullest extent or probably even at all. He had become a different person once he doffed the yoke of childhood obligations and need for paternal praise. But he would never rid himself of them either. They were Severus'.

While his father and mother taught him propriety and duty, etiquette and his station in the world, Severus provided the only true guidance he ever received on how to be a man. He grew up knowing how to be a Malfoy, but it was Severus who taught him how to be himself. To understand obligation and know when it was appropriate and right to satisfy it and when it was right to do what was best for _him_. That was the most important lesson he had ever learned.

Now he stood alone in the basement of his club, his home, his gaze touching some of the many items stored away, things that should never see the light of day. He once believed he belonged with these artefacts, hidden away like a shameful cousin who'd run away to marry a street performer, or maybe a Muggle. But now he longed for the light. He deserved to live his life and it was more promising than he'd ever thought possible.

He missed Severus, but knew he was gone, never to be a part of his life again.

When had his beloved solitude turned into loneliness?

Mulling over his losses, Draco realised he wasn't really alone. He did have… would he call them friends? People. He had _people_, and to his amazement, he wanted to be down there with them, he wanted to be out there talking to scholars and setting up ambushes for competent wizards who would offer him a challenge. Maybe he should have been an Auror, but he had left that path behind long ago for other less savory endeavors. He only knew that Harry and Remus were down in Merida, Mexico, two men he had spent the better part of a month with, and he wanted to be there, too. Follow through with this entire mystery. He wanted to see Hermione get well, actually really wanted it even if she was a Mudblood and most importantly, he wanted to be there with Harry. Merlin knew the man needed someone to watch his back. And so, with anxious determination, he abandoned the basement and gathered up some belongings for a short trip.

He didn't notice the owl fluttering outside of his window as he left for a long distance Floo Station.

* * *

"Umm, Remus?"

Remus glanced over at the unsure sound of Harry's words. "What is it?" The air was warm and thick with moisture. Remus wore a woven Panama hat to shield his eyes from the bright sun of the early Latin American afternoon.

"Uhh… Well… Oh, never mind." Harry picked at the straw in his glass of Coke, fraying the end. They had been sitting in the park for about an hour now, waiting for the exchange Ron had been tipped on. None of Ron's Auror team knew of their presence on this strictly intelligence gathering mission.

"Harry, you can't do that to me." Remus wasn't about to let Harry's worries gnaw at his friend's conscience.

Harry cleared his throat and then swallowed. Remus waited patiently, watching the people pass before them, busy with their own lives. Nobody of the description they searched for had passed: medium build, average height, brown haired, Caucasian. The only thing that might separate him from the masses was his skin tone, so Harry had set up an alarm that would alert him if anyone of a magical bent entered the park.

"You know what you said about Malfoy… that Malfoy turned out… well, didn't turn out so bad…" Harry stumbled over his words. Remus smiled at his friend's obvious distress, knowing exactly where this was leading.

"Yep."

"Do you think he's sincere?"

"I wouldn't think that 'sincere' is the word I'd use for Draco Malfoy, sounds far too… pleasant."

"Do you think he's genuinely a good guy?"

Remus couldn't believe Harry had to ask that. Then again, Harry always did take a lot of convincing about certain people. Snape being a prime example. "I know he isn't playing any deception… and again, not sure if 'good' is the word I'd use for Malfoy."

"Why do you think he isn't deceiving us?" Harry asked, his words weighing heavy with intensity.

"I don't smell it on him. I get more of a sense that he… wants acceptance. I don't believe he has many friends and I think he has attached himself to us in some way."

Harry looked down at his shoes, dirty and scuffed from the dusty ground beneath the bench. "Oh, so maybe he's seeking new lackeys to keep his ego inflated?" Harry mock joked.

"No Harry, I didn't say lackey, I said friend."

"Oh," Harry mumbled. Remus waited in the conversation's lull before his friend spoke again. "That's good." Remus smiled.

They sat in silence for another ten minutes, watching a few birds hop amidst the bushes and a tabby scramble after them before Harry stiffened slightly beside him and said in a whisper, "Alarm's off." Remus casually scratched his nose, scanning the crowd.

"Coming around from our right," Harry said quietly and then in a normal volume, "So you think that Draco wants to be our friend?"

Remus looked over to Harry, giving himself a better view to their right but the only person who appeared from around the low trees was anything but average and anything but a white guy.

"Got a glamour on," Remus whispered as he watched the very attractive, young Latino woman walk towards them, long strides in high heals showing off well defined legs. Then louder he said, "Why don't you just ask him out?"

"What!" Harry sputtered. "What do you mean by that?" He looked over at Remus with clear eyes, not letting their conversation hamper his surveillance, but certainly invested in the line the conversation was heading.

Remus missed this kind of work. He and Harry hadn't done undercover surveillance together as often as he was paired with Moody or other Order members, but he acknowledged they had a good rapport together. Must have been the hours of slaving over Hermione's notes that helped the two to understand all of the nonverbal cues as the verbal debate over Draco ensued.

"Harry, pull your head out of the sand. You're obviously interested in him. And you may or may not be blind, but he's obviously interested in you. Ask him out."

"You think he's interested in me?" The completely innocent awe in Harry's voice was almost charming. The woman passed the two wizards on the bench, paying them little attention, her long hair bouncing with each stride.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Ah. No." Harry spoke definitively. Remus watched Harry's eyes follow the retreating woman.

"Why else do you think he hangs around so much?" Remus asked, then stood and stretched his back.

"Well, maybe he just wants to help out." At Remus' sceptical look, Harry scrambled for another excuse. "There is that vow he made me swear."

"Which you owe him, not the other way around. Why would he hang around because you owed him? All he has to do is call and you'll jump," Remus said with a chuckle to his words.

Harry frowned at that. "I hate that vow. Okay, so it isn't that. Maybe he fancies you."

Remus laughed out loud, looking down at Harry who remained sitting on the bench. "Oh no, my young friend. Definitely you, not me." Remus tapped the side of his nose.

"What, you smell it on him? What do you smell?" Harry finally stood and the two men turned to the left and walked through the park along the dirt path, the woman a good distance in front of them. Harry cast a wandless spell, mumbling low enough that Remus had to strain to hear him, signaling to Ron that they were on the move.

The entire surveillance setup had proved itself over the years, but something had obviously been going wrong here in Mexico. Usually, close undercover agents watched for their target and then back-up waited for the go. The undercover agents were under constant tracking charms so there could never be any confusion as to where they were located. But their actions always seemed to be known by the felon.

Due to potential leaks, Ron wanted to keep their involvement a secret, see if the Dark Artefact peddler was being tipped off by someone on his team or if they had some other means to know they were being watched.

"Well, I doubt I can describe it perfectly, but to put it as plainly as possible, I get an overwhelming scent of desire from that man whenever you're near."

"What? You smell desire off people? You…? He…?" Harry squeaked out the question and fumbled words.

"One of the many things my nose has learned to distinguish throughout the years. I just wish it was this good when I was younger, during the first war. I might have sensed something about Peter." The old animosity still churned within him, but for some reason it seemed less urgent today. It was nothing he could change, just the faded past that no longer offered any threat. That ghost had already done its damage. "And yes. He. Wants. You. Do something about it," Remus said, poking at Harry for emphasis.

Harry's face was a crimson that had nothing to do with the bright sun. Remus marveled at his ability to blush after all of the tragedy Harry experienced in his life. It was good to know his friend still had a heart and some innocence.

The two men walked through the park, following the woman through the stubby trees and shrubs that thirsted for water. Remus wished he had a drink… and not just of the alcoholic kind. He licked his lips and swallowed, his dry throat bobbing.

The woman stopped at a shrine to the Virgin Marry about twenty yards before them. She placed a little box on the edge of the shrine and crossed herself. Then she turned and walked back the way she came, towards the two wizards.

"So… Harry. In the face of confessions… I have something I want to tell to you." Remus felt it was time to let his friend in on his dreams. One dream is fine. Two dreams can be written off as coincidence. But recurring dreams of the same nature telling him to go to Mexico… Well that could be a whole different bag of worms. Harry had experience with visions and Remus was beginning to get an inkling that these were more than his simple subconscious working out the events in his life.

"Yea?" Harry asked. The woman passed them, paying no attention to the two men engaged in conversation. Harry and Remus stopped about five yards from the shrine and continued their talk in the shade of a taller tree.

"I've been having some very disturbing dreams." Remus started, not sure how to tell Harry he had potential visions of his godfather.

"Well Remus, sometimes when you have a lot of built up tension, your body just reacts a certain way while sleeping. It's nothing to be ashamed of; everybody has it happen to them sometimes," Harry said in his most fatherly tone, which wasn't very fatherly in Remus' view.

Remus snorted softly, shaking his head. He needed Harry to understand just how the dreams made him feel. "Actually," he said seriously, "they were about Sirius."

"Ah Remus, I never knew you and Sirius…" Harry half joked with him, but stumbled over his words as soon as he noticed someone approaching the shrine. A short Mexican man walked up to the bubbling basin, crossed himself and took the little box. The exchange was performed before two undercover wizards not on Ron's Auror team. The repercussions were obvious.

Harry tapped his throat three times and whispered, the words transported directly into Ron's ear back at their makeshift headquarters. "Exchange made, follow who?"

Remus turned, his back to the shrine to watch the woman disappear around a curve in the park's path. He wasn't completely paying attention though, his mind on something Harry had said. He and Sirius? But Sirius was his friend, plus he didn't like men that way. But it did cause him to wonder at some of the things Sirius had done while he still lived, some of the things he said, those looks. Did Sirius…? No, now was not the time for that.

"Remus, you follow him, I got her. Just follow, no interference."

"Right," he said and tailed after the man with the little box as Harry went the opposite direction.

The man walked to a dark blue sedan parked three blocks away. Remus noted the license plate number and the direction it was going. He scanned the area and saw too many people for him to cast a Communication Charm to Ron such as the one that Harry used. Remus couldn't do anything without a wand except one spell, a_ccio wand_, which he learned with James and Sirius right before the first war took over their lives. Peter never could master that one at all. Neither could most wizards and witches, to be honest. Remus prided himself on that hard-earned skill.

He walked down the main street to a deserted side road and cast the Communication Charm. "Ron, the purchaser entered a dark blue Chevrolet with license YWC8723. Turned left on _Calle Sol_."

"Great, Remus, meet back at base. And thanks."

Remus glanced around once more for people and Disapparated to Ron's tiny flat.

* * *

Back in Ron's rented flat the three men gathered. It consisted of a single room stuffed with a queen sized lumpy mattress, two chairs, a tiny kitchen with one counter, sink, and constantly clicking refrigerator, and a desk that Ron had purchased at a bazaar three blocks away and lugged down the street on his own. The left, rear leg was a few inches shorter due to the sandpaper like affect cobbled streets had on wood. To Harry, it almost seemed homey, if it weren't for the constant scuttle of cockroaches running across the floorboards and rats running through the plaster walls.

"Well, the woman walked to the main mall and disappeared in the masses. I'm sure she dropped her glamour somewhere in the middle of it. I did get a tracker on her though. I can tell you where she, well he, is…" Harry grew silent for a moment, "northwest of here."

Ron hadn't really said anything since Harry arrived. He had a deepening furrow between his eyes and a frown that would frighten the fiercest dragon tamer. He paced the room, his long strides only allowing for five or six steps before he had to turn around and walk the other way. Remus just glanced over at Harry, offering a thin smile.

"You know what this means…" Ron said.

"I'm sorry," Harry offered, though he knew it was weak and did nothing to help their situation. In all honesty, his frustration rivaled Ron's. This was his team. The team he had put together, with Ron's help, and the roster had only shifted slightly since Ron became the head. They were his buddies as well and the idea of being betrayed by them left him feeling helpless and empty.

"Who do you think? Plincher? Underhill? Maybe Cynthia Abbott, she's only been with us for six months." Ron grabbed a book off the table and threw it at the wall. The spine split and pages fluttered softly to the ground. "Who the fuck do you think it is?" Ron yelled.

"Ron, maybe…" Harry tried, but Ron had steam he needed to blow and Harry knew no cajoling on his part would soothe his pissed off friend. Remus sat calmly by his side. Remus always seemed calm these days and right now it only irritated Harry.

"No. No maybe, Harry. There's someone on my team—on _our_ team—who's selling us out. Someone we've worked with for years. Fucking stabbing us in the back!" Ron kept pacing the room, stomping and yelling loudly enough to have the downstairs neighbor bang sharply on the ceiling. Spanish cursing filtered up through the floorboards drowning out Ron's heavy steps and the skittering of vermin. Harry was certain it was cursing, since cursing seemed to have a universal tone to it, easily translated like love and hate.

"Ron," Harry tried again. "What do you want to do now? Do you want to set a trap for every member of the team? Maybe we should take a little break. You can come up to Costa Rica with me for a day while we think about what to do."

Ron threw himself on his mattress, landing with a solid thump. "I don't know. Yea… I guess. I can't look at them right now. I just can't trust any of 'em. Not now, anyway."

"Okay. Let's go eat and then get some sleep. We need to leave early tomorrow morning to meet with Mr. Popicon."

"Sure." Ron sat up and buried his head in his hands, shoulders hunched over.

Harry wished there was something more he could do.

* * *

It called him constantly, relentlessly, and he basked in its power. He no longer questioned or denied anything the orb commanded. He was controlled by it, as he should be. As he wanted to be. As he always would be.

And he pulsed with its strength coursing through his being. His own magical core a tiny thing in comparison. He could now indenture those into the ranks of the unknowing contributors without directly using the orb, which now lay safely hidden away. His will alone had power to curse, to quell and dominate. A will that was totally subjugated to the orb's own.

And other things. He now had an arsenal of abilities available to him at the whim of the orb. The orb giveth.

He no longer cared about the little things. Family, friends, eating. Sleeping. He had too much to do. Too many people who still needed to contribute. Too much energy to collect.

And the orb longed and the orb hungered. It longed to be whole and it hungered for more power. It knew who it wanted. He would get that wizard for his precious jewel.

"Minister?"

With effort, the man pulled his conscious to that of the primal world, away from the powerful ball of rainbow shimmers.

"Yes, Agent Riley?"

"The British Isles Wizard Relations Conference is tomorrow in Glasgow. Should I bring it?"

"No," Minister Scrimgeour said. "I can handle it. You need to return to Mexico. Protect him as he searches."

Agent Riley nodded his head and slowly left the room.

_The Shining Son. I want The Shining Son. His taste. I will taste him again._

The man slowly slipped into his now usual daze, eyes glazing over as he communed and hungered with his master.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**  
_"Smile a smile that lights up all the room."  
__Deb Talan – Comfort_

Draco hated the sun for many reasons. It was bright, therefore it caused him to squint, creating unsightly wrinkles. It was hot, making him sweat like a burgher. And, it was scalding, burning his pale flesh and painting him with unwanted colour. How could he be the Ice Prince with a sunburn on his nose? Tropical climates were never his destination of choice.

But here he was. Trudging under the Mexican sun, hot even in February, looking for some vague address that he had been certain he'd found twice, but later realised he stood on the wrong avenue or street or whatever these damned people called their roads.

He stopped in the middle of a heavily trafficked pedestrian area and sighed, dropping his leather bag to the dirt layered cobbles. There were Muggles everywhere, bumping into him and staring at his paleness. Not only were they Muggles, but they were Mexican Muggles, not even proper British folk who spoke the Queen's English. Draco was totally out of his element.

"Damn it Potter," he cursed under his breath. Scanning the crowd, he decided to give it one more try. He spotted a somewhat intelligent looking older man, picked up his bag, and approached him.

"Excuse me, sir," Draco said in his politest tone, which contained slightly less condescension than normal. "Could you help me find this address?" He thrust a piece of parchment at the man clothed in a blue business suit with stylish glasses resting on his nose. He took the paper and read the address, elegantly scripted in Draco's precise hand.

"_Si, senior._ Go up that street," he pointed to a road a few blocks down, "and go about three blocks, then turn left on _Calle Gorrión_ and about two or three blocks up should be the building."

Draco offered the business man a small, yet heartfelt, smile, "Thank you."

"_No hay problema_."

Turning around the way he had come, Draco rushed through the crowd following the directions he was just given. He continued to dodge through the mass of people, seeming to grow even thicker as the population of stalls and shops lining the street doubled in number, hocking useless junk that Draco didn't offer a second glance. Did he really need a gourd with beads within it that made a raining sound when all one required was to cast a simple illusory spell to create such an affect? Sometimes the peculiarity of Muggles truly astounded him to no end.

Before too long, he stood below a run-down building five stories high with flaking plaster covering the front façade. Its layers of grime enticed a pained groan from Draco.

He seriously considered going home when he suddenly heard his name emerge from the cacophony of bartering from down the street.

"Oi Draco, that you?"

Draco turned sharply to see Harry, Ron and Remus walking up the street towards him. Harry waved, Remus grinned and Ron just looked confused. A sense of relief washed over him, though his back straightened and his controlled mask took up its usual position.

"Hello," he said simply after they caught up to him.

"What're you doing here?" Harry asked. Draco stiffened at the inquiry, a constriction developing in his throat like a headless beast with no other purpose than to suffocate. He was unsure how to take the greeting, so blatant and tactless. But then Harry smiled at him and he found he was able to breathe once more, realizing that this was just Harry, somehow exempt from simple social graces.

"I figured you might need some help and I haven't been to Mexico before," Draco explained, squinting at the low hanging sun. It was late afternoon, almost evening, but it was still bright out. "I'm not sure I like it."

Harry laughed and Draco, not seeing any mockery in it, offered him a small smile in return.

"No kidding," Harry said. "Even though it's technically winter, it's so hot here. Not used to it." Harry wiped some sweat off of his own brow, grinning all the while like Draco was some long lost friend he hadn't seen in years. "Well, why don't you come up? Or… we just ate… have you eaten? Did you want me to go and get something with you?"

Ron stared incredulously at them as Remus chuckled softly.

Draco continued to examine Harry's face for any insincerities or fractioned lies, but he saw neither, only open joy at Draco's presence. The look was almost off-putting, it made him feel out of his league—or perhaps it made him feel in a totally new league he never even imagined, honest and full of truth.

He almost missed the look passing between Remus and Ron--but didn't. He chose to ignore it anyway.

"Yes, thank you. I don't want to get lost again." This small admittance slipped out of his lips undirected and he hated that it had.

"Sure," Harry simply offered. "We'll meet you guys in about an hour or two?" Harry half stated, half asked.

Remus nodded, smirking. "Okay. We'll set up a place for you tonight, Draco. Want me to take your bag?" Remus asked.

"Thank you," Draco said, handing over his expensive luggage. Remus only nodded and turned to enter the building, though Ron continued to stare at him, a puzzled look upon his face that seemed to take up residence and claim the crease on the Auror's brow as home. Finally he too turned and followed Remus into the tenement building. Draco stood awkwardly, watching them disappear, hearing a very faint, "What was that all about?" as they entered the foyer of the building, the rest muffled behind smudged glass doors.

"Well, ready?" Harry asked, a little more subdued. His face looked red to Draco, perhaps due to too much time spent in the sun, but he was sure Harry hadn't seemed that pink just a few moments ago.

"Yes," he said with a thankful smile. Harry only nodded and they walked down the street. Draco wasn't sure of the last time he offered so much thanks in such a short span of time.

Harry seemed to know the way around the busy area and they soon stood before a small, yet clean, restaurant boasting a taste for world cuisine. There were a few wrought iron tables and chairs cluttered around the front door with plastic umbrellas striped white and green, shading them from the sun. A rich, enticing smell permeated the air of which Draco instantly approved.

"This place is pretty good, been here twice now." Harry laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, a movement Draco now recognized as one of uncertainty. Draco watched the man and wondered what exactly it was that made the Hero of the Wizarding World nervous. It certainly couldn't be him. This same man who only months before had thrown him against an alley wall and threatened him with his significant political and magical power. Could it be that Harry, this beautiful pinnacle of confidence, was nervous because he was interested? Fate had never been so kind to him before… and Draco didn't really believe in miracles.

Nevertheless, Draco's heart leapt.

"It smells good," Draco offered and was relieved to see Harry relax and deliver his radiant smile, one Draco seemed to earn more often these days.

The two men waited for a waitress to seat them in one of the tiny tables and give them each a menu, which Harry attempted to translate for Draco.

"This is chicken," Harry said, pointing to the _pollo_ section of the menu, "and this is curry". A long list of Spanish words held position on one side of the page.

"Curry?" Draco asked, surprised.

"Well, it is world cuisine," said Harry with a smirk.

Draco, feeling very good indeed, decided on bravery and ordered something from the mystery curry list. He had no earthly clue what it was he ordered, but it promised to be spicy. Harry ordered a small portion of some sort of rice dish with eggs and beans.

"So… umm, Draco…" Harry's words tumbled out, and with what looked like a conscious effort, he paused, lifted his glass of some fruit puree to his lips, and took a sip. "What're you doing here? Not that I'm not glad you're here, it's just that I… well, we weren't expecting you."

"I just wanted to see how your research was going, Harry." Calling Harry by his first name still felt foreign on his lips, but it was a good kind of foreign like the first time he ate baklava and it melted on his tongue. Harry's name was like that, just melting on his lips, sweet and rich. "Seriously, I've been working on this project for how long? I couldn't very well leave you without my expertise."

Harry laughed and Draco soon followed. It was such a good feeling, to laugh with someone, that it caught him off guard. He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin, immediately aware of the comfort he felt in Harry's presence.

As he devoured his meal, the curry actually being passable—who knew he could find decent Indian food in Latin America—the two men talked and laughed. They avoided the hard subjects, such as their past animosity, but they found it easy to weave the conversation to pleasant topics and eventually back to their current mission.

"We'll be heading to Costa Rica tomorrow; you coming with us?"

"Of course," Draco said, as if there wasn't really any other option.

"Good." Harry's relaxed smile stole away the rest of Draco's rigid formality and most of his cognizant capabilities. A pregnant pause settled between the men as they lost themselves in the moment, narrow and directed and entirely them. Nothing else distracted or mattered. Draco almost forgot to breathe.

"So…" Harry started. The word held possibility, full of questions and promises and Draco held completely still, afraid to startle the already ruffled man. "When this is all over, when we're back in England… would you… I mean, do you think… Would you like to have dinner with me…?"

Draco almost choked on his flan. Was Harry Potter asking him out? On a date?

"Well, like now…" the other wizard trudged on, a fevered blush racing down his face, past the collar of his shirt. "We're having dinner now and it's nice. Right?"

"Yes, Harry. It is nice." Draco smiled in a way he hadn't since he was a lad sitting on his mother's knee casting his first _Wingardium Leviosa_, when Dark Lords didn't eat the soul of your family and the future held promise for bright, young minds. "I would love to." He realised he was drunk on Harry and he never wanted to be sober again. Perhaps Fate wasn't always a cruel mistress and miracles really did come true.

* * *

When the two wizards finally returned to the apartment, Harry could not conceal his smile. It blossomed over his face, so much like a spring bulb – thriving, fresh and completely beautiful. Remus couldn't help but return it.

The room was cluttered, no walking space to speak of, and Harry hopped from one furniture piece to another. Draco watched on, looking lost and uncomfortable. Remus had transfigured a little cot out of one of the metal framed chairs for Draco and it took up what little floor space remained. Harry had been sleeping next to Ron on the large mattress and Remus slept on the other transfigured chair. It painted a pretty picture reminiscent of a boys' sleep over.

"What, are we children?" Draco asked. "Why're we retiring so early?"

Remus was amazed he heard no condensation or bitterness from the aristocratic man over the shabby accommodations.

"We have to meet with Popicon at 7 a.m. tomorrow; I wanted to get an early start," Harry said. "'Early to rise, early to track down evil artefacts' is my motto."

They all rolled their eyes at Harry, but after some squabbles over space and misplaced feet—Harry accidentally stepping on Ron's arm—the four men settled down in the stuffy room.

Remus lay there, listening to the soft breathing of his companions. It took him a long while to finally fall to sleep, and when he eventually did, he dreamt of shimmering fabric shifting gently in a breeze.

* * *

Funny things happen when four men, sleeping in an enclosed room with the intention of getting up early for some important meeting in an entirely different country, forget to set the alarm fairy.

"Holy Hell," groaned Ron as he realised how late it was, well, early still, but later than they all intended. "Get your arses up! It's past 5."

Draco looked apoplectic. "What! I can't possibly prepare myself in less than an hour, Weasley. You must be joking."

Harry cast a quick _Tempus_ spell and discovered it was 5:15 am. With the one hour time zone difference they had less than forty five minutes to get presentable, Apparate to San Jose and find Mr. Popicon's office. "He's not joking, Draco. You have twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes!" The blond jumped from his make-shift cot and sprinted for the bathroom. Ron groaned.

The other three men rushed around the confined space, dressing as quickly as they could, grabbing a cup of tea or coffee according to their preference and finally, when all other preparations were complete, they stood before the bathroom waiting.

"Draco!" Harry called. "Hurry, I gotta brush my teeth and use the loo."

"Yeah, could you hurry up in there!" Ron added, banging on the door. "Come on, get outta my bathroom." Ron never had been a morning person.

All they heard was the faint sprinkle of the shower.

"What the hell, Malfoy! You showering?!" Ron began banging on the thin door. Remus just threw up his hands to the air and went to lean against the edge of the tipsy table.

"Leave me alone," Malfoy called out at them. "You can't rush this kind of perfection."

"If you don't get out of there in one more minute, Malfoy, I'm coming in."

Harry danced around a bit, cursing himself for drinking that last cup of coffee. He checked the time again. It was 5:37. Time was running short.

"That's it!" Ron finally said. He placed his shoulder against the door, leaned away from it, and came in hard, cracking the frame.

"What the hell, Weasley!" Malfoy screamed from the bathroom. "Just give me a second."

"You've had your second. You've had twenty _bloody_ minutes." Ron bashed at the door again, causing the flimsy door frame to break off and the door to fall to the side.

"Hey!" Draco's high piercing screech emerged like the scream of a little girl.

"God, Malfoy," Ron said, shock and disgust apparent in his words. He quickly turned away from the bathroom, moving faster than the rats in the walls.

Curious, Harry poked his head around the broken frame. The sight caused him to catch the unformed words he was about to speak and attempt to swallow them through a thick lump in his throat. Draco stood there in nothing but a towel, grasped loosely to his body like a flimsy shield, showing a fair amount of enticing skin. A faded tattoo stood out in contrast on his otherwise flawless arm, a remnant of a forsaken past.

Harry couldn't look away from the image before him. His gaze roamed up and down the slender figure and finally met Draco's face. His pale complexion glowed rosy with embarrassment, but he returned the stare with ease, head tilted slightly to one side. Harry couldn't stop gawking and soon became aware of a heat burning his veins, quickly heading south.

"Umm…" Harry said, coherency slowly reforming in the fried synapses of his brain. "I'll let you dress." And he darted away only to be scrutinized by the other male inhabitants of the room. "What?!" he asked.

Ron looked at Harry with a curious expression and then glanced over at Remus. "Malfoy? Harry fancies Malfoy?" The words were spoken in shocked calm.

Harry blushed furiously as Remus nodded. "It appears so, Ron. Come on now, take it like a man." Grinning, Remus winked at Ron as the redhead shifted uncomfortably next to him.

Ron looked over to Harry, a look of worry on his face. "Harry… Malfoy?"

With a perfectly sincere expression, Harry nodded. He wanted Ron to understand. Needed him too.

"What?" came the curious voice from behind him.

Harry jumped off the ground. "Don't sneak up on me," he admonished Draco, who stood there fully dressed and looking like a million galleons, per usual.

"Well, are you all ready?" he asked, nose in the air. Remus exploded in laughter.

"I still gotta use the loo." Harry dodged past Draco, waving his hand at the door frame causing it to mend itself. He slammed the door behind him after he entered and leaned his forehead against the steamed up mirror, fogging it up even more with his hot exhalation.

_Merlin, what a way for Ron to find out._

_Damn, Draco looked so good._

* * *

The wizards ended up being twenty minutes late to their meeting with Mr. Popicon.

They arrived in San Jose at the closest Apparition point to the office near the university, with five minutes to spare. Unfortunately, as Draco experienced first hand, the streets were not easily navigated and the four men ended up running around in circles until they found an unobtrusive alley that led them into the next section of town that housed the scholar's office.

"Mr. Popicon, I'm so sorry we're late. You see, we had this problem this morning…"

Draco, seeing that the Gryffindor was heading into a long stream of babbled truths, stepped in to redirect the conversation. The last thing he wanted was a recap of his betrayed privacy to this stranger. Though oddly enough, he didn't feel too indignant about it.

"We were unfortunately delayed this morning," Draco said. "I hope we didn't leave you with too much of an inconvenience by our tardiness." Draco held out his hand.

Argyle Popicon was a heavy set man with ill fitting clothes, but his breeding was good and Draco gave him credit for that, even if he was a careless slob. Plus the man was reportedly brilliant when it came to early Latin American magical practices. They couldn't afford to alienate him.

"Not at all, Mr.—"

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy, of the English clan?"

"Of course." Draco didn't think his name carried as much weight anymore; at worst it brewed an entirely different reaction from people who had heard of his father's actions during his later years. He always wondered how others would receive him upon introduction, not that it truly mattered to him. But he was proud of his name, his heritage, even if it was now more a stigma than a badge of honour.

"Pleasure," Popicon said. "You must be Harry Potter." The man looked over at Harry, who watched their greeting. Draco hoped he hadn't alienated Harry by cutting in.

"Yes. Thank you again for meeting with us." Harry shook his hand and introduced Ron and Remus. Popicon offered them each a seat and he settled his considerable bulk in an oversized chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"Quite the collection of war heroes I have here, isn't it?" Popicon seemed pleased.

"We only did what we had to do, sir," Harry offered in his most official tone. "What anyone would have done." Draco watched as Harry adorned himself in the mantles of the Boy Who Lived and Auror. His smiling, lighthearted Harry seemed to have jumped ship.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" the scholar said. Remus and Ron seemed to be hanging back, letting Harry do all the talking. Draco decided to follow suit and remained quiet.

"Thank you." Harry handed a thin manila envelope across the desk. "This is all the information I have on the curse that I believe has been spread using a South American relic, more specifically a very old Aztec artefact. It seems to drain people of their magic. Initially it left anyone cursed a squib. But after more people had been cursed, research showed that its effects lessened in those previously cursed. They all started to get their magic back, but not fully."

"What do you know about the artefact itself?" asked Popicon, thumbing through the few pages Harry had given him.

"Not much, sir. What I know is that every other scholar I tried to talk to blew me off. I know that people have been killed over this. I also know that someone has set up a kind of area spell over some of our communities in London. I'm rather sure this is tied into the curse because most of the people of that area have been affected by it." Harry didn't want to tell this man that he thought the Ministry building was compromised, but he knew he needed to tell him as much as possible.

"This isn't much to go on," Popicon said, sounding disappointed. "But I will look into it for you."

"Thank you, sir. And if I find out anything more, is there a quicker way to contact you?"

"Ah, yes." The man stood and turned to rummage about in a filing cabinet behind him. He pulled out a small piece of paper, hard like a Muggle business card. Written out in block letters: Mr. Argyle Popicon, Research in Antiquities and Relics.

Harry glanced at the card, not sure what to do with it. "Is there a phone number?"

Popicon laughed. "It's one of my new inventions." He seemed quite pleased with himself. "I call it a Calling Card." The man snorted at himself, as if he thought he was the cleverest wizard around. Draco thought he spent far too much time with Muggles.

"How does it work?" Harry asked, a look of pure fascination on his face.

"You tap it with your wand and speak my name. We can talk through the card."

"Amazing! Why haven't we seen these in England yet?" Harry asked.

"My Magic Patent just went through. You know how it takes so long for international relations and product sales across borders. Just give it time."

"Well thank you, again. I am sure we will be in touch. Umm, you can contact me via Floo, to Hermione Granger, London England. Or owl at this address in Merida, Mexico. We will be there a little while longer." Harry scribbled down the address of Ron's tiny space in Mexico.

"Ah, Miss Granger. How's she doing?"

"Ah… cursed, sir. She's in a form of coma, apparently an experimental spell she had active interacted with the curse. Nothing new to report," Harry said dully.

"I'm so sorry to hear there's been no progress. She's such a brilliant witch. Experimental spell indeed… I hope to work with her again."

"You worked with her?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes, she visited a few years back and we worked on some new containment spells for destroying Dark Artefacts. Apparently she's had quite a bit of practice destroying ancient relics of a cursed nature."

"Yeah. She's destroyed a dark relic or two in her time."

* * *

With weighted hearts they all sprawled themselves amongst the ragtag furniture, except for Draco who sat rather primly on the edge of the wobbly desk.

"Well," said Draco, "that wasn't very productive."

Harry harrumphed, but didn't say anything.

"I'm sure that he'll discover something." Remus wanted to attach some optimism to the rather hopeless looking expedition they'd just returned from.

Ron looked like he was about to cry. "Can't you think of anything else, something you might have forgotten earlier? We can't leave her like this! Dark Relic from Aztec origins that siphons off magical energy. How popular is that?"

"Actually," Draco drawled, "you would be surprised. Magical vampirism is rather prevalent amidst megalomaniacs who only want to increase their own power." He gestured towards Harry, towards his scars, to make a point. "However, the fact that its effect lessens as more people are cursed is definitely unique. I haven't come across that in anything I've researched."

"Do lots of research on Dark Artefacts, huh?" Ron asked sullenly.

Draco looked over at the Auror. "Actually, yes."

Ron raised his eyebrows at Draco, but he didn't say anything more. They all fell into a quiet contemplation, none of them saying anything as they thought over what to do next. Each of them thought about Hermione, her survival being a foremost concern. Ron also worried about his Auror Team. Remus reviewed what he could remember of his recurring dreams. Draco rifled through his memories on all of the items in his inherited collection as well as kept an eye on Harry, who just felt lost.

There was a loud knock on the door that thrust each man out of his musings. The knock came again and Ron looked over at Harry, who already drew his wand. "You expecting anyone?" Harry whispered.

Ron shook his head and stood to one side of the door. Harry positioned himself on the other as Ron called out. "Who is it?"

"Uh, it's Goyle, Greg Goyle. Is Draco Malfoy there?"


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait guys! I've been writing a few other things for some exchanges I'm in. Also, I am participating in NaNoWriMo this year for the fourth time, so updates will be sparse in November. But I promise to get you another update before then.

Enjoy this Chapter, I put a little sap in it for you!

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**Chapter 15  
**_"Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"  
Snow Patrol – Chasing Cars_

"Greg!" Draco called out, pushing his way past the two men poised to attack and opened the door—his own wand at the ready just in case it did prove a trap.

"Draco, thank Merlin. Been lookin' for ya." Greg spoke with an urgency of lost time but his words fell heavy to the floor after he scanned the rest of the room's inhabitants, noticing three wands aimed his way. He took a step back. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, come in," Draco said. Ron and Harry exchanged glances, passing secret knowledge through faint facial expressions that Draco read like an open book. Stepping back, Ron let Greg enter but still held his wand aloft. Harry had lowered his to his side.

"Draco, about that thing, ya know… what you came to visit me for? I got that info." He stood on his guard, visibly shaken, eyes dancing between the other men and Draco.

"What did you find out?" Draco urged him. He noted a wild, trapped look about Greg and then registered the animosity in the air. "Oh for Merlin's sake, lower your wands, Greg's trustworthy."

"But he's a Death Eater!" Ron called out as Harry asked, "But how'd he find you?"

"How_did_ you find me?" Draco asked, grasping onto the more relevant question.

"Well…" Greg shifted around nervously and Draco couldn't blame him. While Greg certainly claimed the largest stature in the room, Ron stood as tall as he and was a fully trained Auror. Not to mention Harry "Savior of the Wizarding World" Potter's presence as well as that of a werewolf. The intimidation factor boiled high. "I sent ya an owl that returned to me… and I knew this was really important, so I left 'Peia a note and came to London. You know I'm still wanted…" his eyes darted to Ron again. "I went to your club and met with your bouncer, but it was actually your bartender who talked him into tellin' me where ya were."

"Tyrone told you I was in Merida?" Draco asked. Greg nodded. "How did you find me from there?"

"A few magical detection charms and a ton of questions. Really, all I had to do was ask 'round. It took time, but you're pretty distinctive."

"Shite," Ron said, finally lowering his wand, but still keeping it firmly gripped in his fist. "Fuck."

"Ron, calm down," Harry said. "Let's let him talk." Remus remained in a spare corner, leaning against the wall.

Draco glanced at Harry, offering silent thanks. "Okay, Greg. Please, what did you find out?"

With a nervous glance at the other three men, Greg finally started talking. "Those meetin's that were going on… They were called by old allies… People you and I both knew. But those old allies were plants, polyjuiced or disguised in some way. Fakes! People ended up dead, Draco! In fact, Nott's dad was one of 'em, so was Bulstrode—"

"We know about her," Harry interrupted.

"Really? What's going on? They're killin' us. Is it the Ministry?" Greg's eyes pleaded for Draco to offer him some explanation, to tell him everything was going to be fine and nobody else they knew would turn up dead.

"Greg," Draco said, "calm down. What else do you know? Take a breath—calm down and tell us everything, from the top."

Greg took in a deep breath and slowly let it out, and then another and finally a third. Ron rolled his eyes, but both Harry and Remus quietly waited. Greg looked around the room, and when he found no chairs, he hopped up to sit on the table, causing it to briefly rock back and forth. Finally, he took one more breath and began.

"First, I talked to Doug Carrow and Nicetus Spence, remember them? Spence was the one who approached me first, before I even heard about all this. Then I talked with Nott; he'd been invited to a meetin' as well. That's when I found out 'bout his dad. This fucking rots!" Greg once again seemed to have lost his focus.

"Greg, do you know anything about a magical item at these meetings?" Harry asked, his voice quiet and calm. "An artefact or something unusual. That might have been used on people there?"

He looked up at Harry, eyes wide, "like the ball?"

"What ball, Greg?" Harry urged.

"Well, people had seen some bloke with this crystal ball and some said there was a light or something from it that zapped folks. A guy with a crew cut had the ball, not someone anyone knew, not one of the Dark Lord's men. No one would talk to him though, I mean, ya can't trust someone with such Muggle tastes."

Ron groaned, but Harry appeared very interested.

"So, someone had a crystal ball and was 'zapping' people with it? Did anyone tell you how they felt after they got zapped?"

"Well, only a few people really saw it, but after Carrow visited one of those meetin's and a friend of his told him he saw the guy with the ball and that was when Carrow said he weren't feeling right."

"How do you mean?"

"Problems with his magic." Greg locked eyes with Draco and Draco nodded, encouraging him to go on. Greg cleared his throat and continued in a faint voice. "They had no magic at all for a while."

"Like they were rendered a squib?" Draco asked.

Greg nodded.

"But after time they got their magic back," Draco said, more to himself than to Greg.

"You're right," Greg replied, surprised.

"Do you know anything more about this ball?" Harry asked, showing no sense of the urgency Draco knew he must be feeling.

Greg shook his head. "I never saw it. Just that it was a crystal ball, but smaller than the normal kind. Carrow's friend told him it was palm sized. What's goin' on?"

"We don't know yet." Harry answered him before Draco had a chance. "Only what you already know; people are losing their magic, then getting it back. Someone's apparently cursing people with what looks to be a small divination tool and that's what's killing their magic. More people are being cursed, not just people at your gatherings, and we're trying everything to stop it and hopefully cure everyone."

"Ya don't know who's behind it?"

Harry shook his head. "Only I think I know who this bloke you described might be." He glanced over to Remus. "Agent Riley is my first guess."

Remus made a low noise, akin to a growl from a human throat, and Greg stared at him warily.

"Riley?" Ron about choked. "What the hell, why do you suspect him?"

"How many wizards do you know with a crew cut? He's an undercover agent, hunts Death Eaters, has access to people both in the Ministry and at St. Mungo's. Plus… my gut tells me not to trust him."

"He's been down here a few times," Ron said, his voice soft with shock.

"What!?" Harry demanded.

"He's been down here, supposedly to check on our progress and offer his help…"

The entire room sat as quiet as winter's first morning while new ideas popped into overtaxed brains.

"Bernard Underhill and Ted Riley are cousins aren't they? They joined together, trained together, spend every fucking Christmas together." Ron's temper flared. "Didn't they work together on the Nott Sr. case?" He looked over at Harry and Draco, his eyes flaring, reminding Draco that this man might have been the Weasel back in school, but was an entirely different force as an adult. "Nott worked with the Ministry to avoid the kiss and got reduced time. Underhill never got over that… wasn't his wife's death attributed to Nott? Damn it! I've worked with him for years. He's been on our team for two."

"I think it's time we set up a little test for the team. What do you say, Ron?"

Ron stood silently, staunch resolve his only expression. He nodded silently.

"Well," Draco broke the silence, "let's get planning."

* * *

Hot damn, it'd been a long day. He knew just how important his whole mission was, but it didn't mean he wasn't frustrated at still being down in Mexico. Home called to him just as it did to every other member of his team. He stifled a yawn as he stumbled his way to his rented room down a small, quiet street. It was more of an alley really and it reminded him of some of the more cramped areas of Knockturn Alley, though lacking the bustle of people skulking in the shadows that the infamous wizarding sector had. This place always stood deserted. 

But as the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled, Bernard looked around. Someone was here. He didn't see anyone but his honed awareness gave him a sense of being watched. A gentle breeze ruffled his long hair, blowing some stray bits of paper down the narrow road. He mumbled a few spells, wand hidden up his jacket sleeve, but they revealed nothing of the night. With a shrug, but no less tense attentiveness, he continued on to his residence. Nothing stopped him in the darkness.

The next day was as uneventful as the previous week. Tempers simmered close to the surface amongst the Aurors and he felt no different than the rest. All of them just wanted to go home. But they had their mission. Agent Weasley was particularly subdued today, which usually meant something had recently blown up in his face. This was the quiet after the storm and all of the field agents knew to let him have his space.

Bernard worked quietly at his desk, but with little to actually do, he mainly puttered around, organizing his thoughts and some of the evidence they had collected on the case so far. There were seven of them here, including Agent Weasley, their superior. He and the other agents all crammed into a little rented space fuddling with papers and files and even some artefacts they had requisitioned from minor criminals.

Through established contacts in the relic trading business in Mexico, they'd been getting more and more hints on when a purchase or exchange might be happening, but they were never able to catch the perpetrator. It frustrated everyone, especially Weasley, and nerves stretched thin as the months puddled by with infuriatingly slow progress.

An excited murmur reached his ears and he glanced up at the doorway. Other Aurors rose from their seats and chattered happily as they saw a new person standing in the doorway to their tiny office. Harry Potter.

"Potter!" "Damn good to see you here." "You gunna help us out, you old rotter?"

"Hey everyone! Hear you've been having a hell of a time on this case," Harry said. The excited din of voices all concurred and the man was immediately surrounded by his fellow Aurors, all excited to see him.

"Okay guys, I gotta talk to Ron. But maybe later we can all go grab a_cerveza_."

"Sure thing Potter and you're buying," Pilcher said and everyone keenly agreed.

Harry laughed, smiling at the gathered agents. "Fine, but someone else gets the nachos."

"Hey Harry," Agent Abbot interrupted, "how's Hermione doing?"

The soft features of Harry's face suddenly went stiff and sadness rimmed the man's eyes. "Still in a coma."

"Well, we're all thinking of her." Everyone in the room agreed, offering their heartfelt condolences. All of them knew Hermione and each had had their life saved at least once by one of her inventions, now standard issue in their Auror kits.

"Thanks," said Harry as he entered the small office with Ron. Before he closed the door a few of his words landed on the ears of the men and women in the room. "Ron, I think I figured out a way to catch this guy." The room erupted in cheers.

One cheer was a little less enthusiastic than the others. _Fuck. Potter. I need to tell Herr __Kogelmann immediately._ And that feeling again. Someone watching him. But Potter and Weasley were occupied and their other friend, Granger, was laid up. Nobody else could possibly be following him.

Bernard Underhill excused himself after the excitement lulled and stumbled out of the office into the early morning streets, already brimming with business. Another precautionary cast of spells to assure he wasn't being followed and the man almost raced down the street, words repeating in his head. _Fucking Harry Potter. Fuck me._

* * *

"Do you think our traitor took the bait?" Harry asked, munching on an empanada he'd bought on the street, a thin string of cheese attaching the pastry to his lips. 

"We'll find out soon enough," grumbled Ron, glaring at the empanada.

"Did you want one?" Harry asked, slight abashed.

"What?! No… Yes! Anyway, I can't see how you can eat right now."

"What? I'm hungry," he mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, cheese and beef. "We missed dinner… and breakfast." After Goyle left and they had informed Mr. Popicon about the orb, they remained up late into the evening devising cunning and convoluted plans both Ron and Draco approved until Harry suggest something simple and practically guaranteed. Draco had pouted and even Ron seemed put out, but they both agreed on a simple scheme to get their traitor to reveal himself. Remus added his subtle touch to the plan, but had to leave that morning to return to Blumgeower Books or risk his job. Plus, someone needed to check in on Hermione, make sure she knew her guardian angels hadn't abandoned her in their crusade for retribution.

"Fine, give me some." Ron stared at the half-eaten empanada and Harry grudgingly passed it over to him.

"Have the rest," he sighed.

"Really?" That perked Ron right up. "Thanks!" And he finished the rest of the pastry, hmming in delight.

* * *

Draco understood, with some complaint, why he had to be the one to follow Auror Underhill. He was the unknown. But he still didn't enjoy tailing the suspect. He was Machiavellian, polishing his crafty nature to plan intricate tactics to earn favor and get his own way. This type of dirty work was more suited to less shrewd, more hands-on type of people, for example—Gryffindors. 

Why was he doing this again? Oh yes, some sense of follow-through or something silly like that. Plus, Potter was hot. Potter had asked him out to dinner. Potter… Harry… smiled at him and asked nicely. Shite. Wasn't it Harry who owed Draco?

_Fuck me_

Agent Underhill walked with quick, short strides through the streets of Merida, turning down an alley then walking up a set of stairs to an upper-story market and then back down to the street on the other side. He offered no glance at the wares on sale, didn't browse at all, causing him to stand out like a goth boy in a cowboy bar. Even for someone with little skill in tailing someone, Draco was having no problem. Plus, a little spell he devised years ago kept him hidden from even the Auror quality detection charms. Ah, it was good to be brilliant.

Finally, after the man finished wandering the streets, in true zombie-like fashion, he came to a bus station with a small battery of lockers. Underhill glanced around, finally out of his panicked daze, and pulled out a bit of spare paper and pen and scribbled down something. Then he placed his thumb on the front of locker 27. It popped open and he stuffed in the paper, closed it and quickly walked away.

With a graceful flip to the tip of his wand, Draco cast a communication spell and informed Harry and Ron of the situation. Five minutes later, he felt a tap on his arm.

He heroically held in a mighty yelp.

"Draco, it's me." Harry's whisper tickled his ear.

"I figured," he replied, dully.

They stood together, shoulder to shoulder leaning against the concrete wall of the bus station. Draco could feel Harry breathing next to him and was keenly aware whenever the other man shifted. He felt a tingling, almost a spark of magic between them, and he found it quite a chore to keep his mind on task. All he wanted was to lean into that touch, have it envelop him. For twenty minutes he experienced this exquisite affliction before someone approached locker 27 drawing both men away from the wall, away from each other's touch.

Draco felt chilled by the lack of Harry.

A middle-aged man came towards the locker, pressed his thumb against it and took out the paper. He scanned it quickly and turned away, returning the way he came.

"It's him. He's got my tracking spell on him," Harry whispered. "Let's follow him."

Draco took a few steps and slammed into Harry's invisible body. "This isn't going to work."

"Grab my hand." Draco felt a hand fumbling over his front, finding his shoulder and sliding down his arm to grasp his fingers. Draco grasped back. He wasn't sure if he was in heaven or hell.

The two men, obfuscated from the world, followed their target through the bus station hall to the cobbled back streets. The man walked with sure strides, but didn't appear to be in any hurry, didn't alter his course in any way and finally walked right up to a small warehouse lost amidst other warehouses in the industrial district. He opened a corrugated metal door that scraped against the pavement in a sharp squeal, and walked in leaving Harry and Draco behind in the bright light of early afternoon.

"Well. What now?" Draco asked, his voice pitched low and quiet. Their palms were sweaty and Draco wished to rub it against his jeans to dry it off. But Harry didn't let go.

"Let's check out the perimeter and return here. Don't go in," Harry said, finally dropping his hand. Draco quickly wiped it. "You go right and I'll go left. Okay?"

"Sure," Draco said. He tried to pull in his thoughts, focus them on his surveyance of the building, but all he could think of, all he could feel was the strong hand in his. Merlin, he was being such a girl, and an innocent, pure, young thing at that.

He walked away to the right and around the side of the building. The walls were shabby metal, hastily constructed and rusted through in spots. He glanced through one of the holes to find nothing but a deserted building with a few stacks of boxes and crates. He pulled out his wand and cast a few spells; yes there were illusion wards in place. He continued around the back of the building, noting the grimy window, the fire escape attached to the back wall, some vent louvers and stacks. A one-way street ran from left to right behind the building. This was only a portion of the large grid that made up the industrial district.

He paused to sniff the air, smelled the faint odour of engine oil and styrene, then resumed his walk around the building and returned to their starting point, standing in the same location from which he began.

The wait was short when he finally felt a hand on his back. This time he expected it and no embarrassing cry tried to crawl off his tongue.

Neither said a word as they stood facing the warehouse. Harry's hand had settled on Draco's shoulder like a permanent resident and Draco found himself leaning into the sturdy touch. He could hear Harry's deep breaths. Time slowly expended itself but neither man took any notice.

Finally, with an internal struggle, Draco said, "We should return."

"Yeah. You're right." Harry let his hand fall and again Draco felt bereft. The two men walked a few blocks away and nobody heard the soft pop of their Disapparition.

* * *

Upon their return, they relayed the news. Ron sat in a chair, his back straight and his eyes downcast, listening to their report. 

"Ron?" Harry asked softly. "What do you want to do?"

Ron offered no answer, just continued to look blindly off to one side, eyes vacant, lips turned down.

Harry stood and gestured for Draco to follow him. They left the small flat and took the stairs up, a direction Draco hadn't explored before, and eventually came out on the top of the building's tiled roof. The tiles were slippery, but they slowly made their way onto the surface and sat. Harry leaned back, cradling his head with his arms and just stared into space. Draco settled next to him.

"I love the night, the stars, the endlessness of the sky," Harry murmured.

The night air harboured a slight nip to it and Draco shivered against the cold tiles.

"Cold?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Draco said. Harry slid closer to him anyway and Draco could feel the warmth radiate off the other wizard. Body heat and magic.

"The stars are different here," Harry mused, his voice soft and contemplative. Draco stared into the sky, counted the specks of light to keep his mind off of the man next to him. This wizard, once an enemy, then a comrade and finally a friend. There was really no denying it anymore. His friends were few and far between and the addition of another was something noteworthy.

It had been good to see Greg again. Something profoundly invaluable about people who knew you when you still had acne and didn't even know how to turn a matchstick into a needle. Not that Draco ever had acne, his inheritance of good genetics and family hygiene spells took care of that, but Greg had seen him at his gangliest, even if he still had more poise at five than most people modeled as adults.

They had been to each other's Presentation Ceremonies when each of them had proven to have magic. They flew together in the Manor's gardens and talked about girls. He told Greg about his first crush, Pansy Parkinson—Draco shuddered, what had he been thinking—and came out to him during the close of their seventh year the day before his 18th birthday. The day he took the Mark.

He really didn't want to think about that, locked away behind a big, mental padlock and a sign "Do Not Enter" plastered over the door.

He had too many memories locked away there, stuffed in those far reaches of his mind. He didn't want to dredge them up. He didn't want to roll the past around in his mind, study it or analyze it in any way. That was old hat. The past was past, a faded moment that would never happen again. His lessons were earned with the pain of living and he didn't want to examine that bill again.

But there would always be pain, and as he glanced over at Harry lying next to him, he also knew there would always be joy.

"Ron will come out of it," said Harry. "We'll probably storm the place soon, take down the Bad Guy, ship Underhill off to trial, find this crystal ball, cure Hermione and the rest of England, and live happily ever after. Ta da!"

"Ta da?" Draco asked, amused.

"Ta. Da. Just like that. The world will be merry, everyone will be happy and goodness and light will prevail forever."

Harry smiled over at Draco; the smile was incandescent, brilliantly lit by a thousand suns. It caused his heart to ache, tighten in his chest and refuse to beat. A beating heart would mean the passage of time and Draco didn't want to ever forget this moment.

Some memories he did cherish.

But then he relaxed and his heart beat again and nothing changed. Harry still smiled. The stars still glittered. Something magical still burned between them. For once in his life, Draco was happy. He returned Harry's smile.

"Goodness and light? Where would such a creature as I belong in this fairytale world of yours?" Draco joked.

"Oh, I don't know. Even paradise needs its snakes to offer temptation for the pure to struggle against. How boring would life be without a little struggle?"

"Well," Draco said, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning towards Harry. "Beware then, for Slytherins are sneaky and enjoy corrupting the innocent." He leaned closer to Harry with a leering grin, caught in the camaraderie of the moment.

Harry gazed up at him, the stars and crescent moon reflected in those green eyes, so deep in the darkness of the evening. They held Draco's own, peering, searching for some knowledge or secret. Maybe for the truth or even a promise, Draco didn't know. Then they darted down to Draco's lips and with the weight of inevitability, Draco leaned forward and kissed him.

As Harry's lips fluttered across Draco's he was suddenly filled with warmth. It was almost like being free. Like the future was a possibility.

Draco lifted his hand and cradled Harry's cheek, every cell in his body vibrating at the touch. The kiss wasn't fevered, but it wasn't chaste either and after they finally pulled apart Harry pulled Draco down into an embrace, laying Draco's head on his shoulder. He sighed softly, sinking into how right it felt.

Time passed with no expectations. Draco ran his fingers through the thick hair tickling his cheek. After uncountable moments, Draco pulled back up, facing Harry. He looked directly into Harry's eyes, who stared back, searching again those gray depths. Draco realised he could lose himself in those eyes, or perhaps unearth something so much more. Belonging. Or maybe redemption.

"I have not known joy before this day," Draco murmured.

Harry jerked at the softly spoken expression, so reverent and honest, like Draco bound the truth in his open words and offered it with no regret.

Home. That is what this was. Draco had finally found home.

* * *

DAILY PROPHET  
BAD OYSTERS BRING HALT TO WIZARD CONFERENCE

Glasgow, Scotland – A bad batch of oysters turned a gathering of goodwill and international relations into a weekend of illness and bed rest during the British Isles Wizard Relations Conference this last weekend.

"I am shocked that an entire batch of oysters and clams was contaminated with _Alexandrium_ toxin," reported Arlene Launter, head caterer to the event. "My oysters are the most excellent found in the western hemisphere. What a terrible waste of good shellfish."

Neurotoxic shellfish poisoning (NSP) is caused by red algae toxin concentrations in fish and shellfish. It causes nausea, weakness, and paralysis of the respiratory system. Due to the large attendance at the conference, it is believe that most people did not overindulge in the shellfish, causing most symptoms to be minor. Such an outbreak of NSP has not occurred since the Watcher family Christmas soirée of 1872 where three people died from the effects of the contamination. Following the Watcher family incident, _Alexandrium defeacotia_ was developed by Emily Watcher, which removes the deadly toxin from the shellfish. Why the spell was not utilized for the conference hors d'oeuvres is still under examination.

British Minister Scrimgeour and Irish Minister Blachett were not available for comment; however they both have been reported to be fully recovered, as are the rest of the Conference's attendants.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Sorry for the cliffy. We have now entered the Dungeon Crawl. (dramatic drumming). Next month is NaNoWriMo!

* * *

**Chapter 16**  
_"I'll follow you into the dark."  
Death Cab for Cutie – I Will Follow You Into the Dark_

Harry and Draco lingered on the roof until the lack of warm jumpers forced them to retreat to the flat in the last hours of the night. The two men had subtle smiles and swollen lips as they entered the flat and peered at it through the dimness. Ron lay on the bed, tucked into a tight ball with his back to the door. A soft snore escaped. Harry giggled.

"Harry, did you just giggle?" Draco asked in a low voice, eyebrow arched.

"Me? Course not." And then he giggled again and leaned in to steal a quick kiss. Draco grabbed his biceps and pulled Harry close to him, chest to chest, assuring that the kiss was anything but quick.

"Nghhh," emerged from the bed. Then a more coherent, "'bout time ya got back."

The kiss ended more quickly than either of them intended, and as Ron finally rolled over to look at them, they stood side by side, as casual as a puppy who had just piddled on the floor.

"What?" Ron sat up, alarmed. "What did you guys do?"

"Nothing!" Harry said. "Umm…" His gaze wandered towards Draco, unsure of exactly what they were to each other, unsure of how Draco would handle this, how Ron would handle this.

Draco returned the look and smiled. He let his eyes roam up and down Harry's body, obvious and possessive, and then walked over to his own cot, smirking at Ron.

"Oh Gawd," Ron groaned. "Just… just… not in the room when I'm here, okay?" Ron looked at Harry with a desperate, pleading look in his eyes. "Okay?"

Harry was grinning like he had just met Santa Claus and nodded.

"Oh, don't worry, Weasley," Draco drawled. "We won't upset your delicate sensibilities."

Ron groaned to himself again and finally climbed off the bed. "Whatever," he said with a dismissive manner. "Harry, owl came for you while you were gone. From Popicon."

Ron handed a wrapped scroll to Harry that was sealed with a beige wax stamp. News from Popicon! Harry hoped it was something—anything—that could help them with the crystal ball and breaking the curse on Hermione. He threw an apologetic look to Ron and knew that his friend must have been dying to open his post.

Harry touched the stamp with his thumb and it crumbled into small chunks after it had assessed his magical signature. Quickly, with unsteady hands, he unrolled the scroll and skimmed it. Both Ron and Draco leaned over his shoulders, reading.

"He's got something," Harry said in awe. "'Dear Mr. Potter,'" he read to the others, "'with the additional information about the 'crystal ball' I think I might have found your relic. And when I say relic, I certainly mean _relic_. This item is ancient. Its most modern name is the Quetzalcoatl Staff. 'Staff?' you might say. Yes, Staff. The ball is only one portion of the whole. It is believed to not only pre-date the Conquistador era, but there is also the possibility it hails from before the Aztecs as we know them, perhaps originating from the Toltecs.

"'The Staff has three components: the staff, wooden, about three feet long according to record; the orb, which you are familiar with; and a feather, said to have come from the Quetzalcoatl itself. It was dismantled and the pieces were spread throughout the world, supposedly to reduce the relic's power.

"'History says that the Staff was wielded by the Aztec ruler. With the Spanish traveled an intrepid European wizard who understood immediately the power of the artefact. As the Aztecs were decimated, the wizard gained access to the Staff and tinkered with it. He must have been a very powerful man, very stupid, yet still very powerful. His influence in some way affected the magic of the Staff and it came to life, gained its own _élan vital_.

"'The Staff began to control the wizard. Most records were lost due to the destruction of one of the ships on the return trip, but the Staff made it. It is impossible to piece together the entire journey and history of the object, for only it can tell. One report says it laid on the bottom of the ocean until a giant squid devoured it, only to be found in its belly by whalers in the early 1700s.

"'But most of the reports all say the same thing: the item controlled people. It took away their will and inserted its own. It drained their energy and thrived off of magical folk. Between this aspect of its power and your information on the orb, I was able to eventually find reference to this relic. It was dismantled by an old coven in the Yukon and members took the pieces far and wide to reduce its power. They were not able to destroy the object, though their efforts lead to many failed attempts and untimely deaths.

"'There are some references to the reversal of the curse, but I haven't found a complete ritual yet. I have sent a request for an audience with the Yukon coven as it exists today. Let's hope they keep good records!

"'This is a cursed, sentient artefact. Be careful. Its true strength is unknown, especially if all of its parts are reunited.

"'When I find out more, I will contact you immediately. Records show that all pieces have been missing for over a hundred years, so I cannot offer any suggestions on the location of the staff or feather.

"'Happy hunting.

**Argyle Popicon'"**

"Well, that's sure fine and educational and all, but this doesn't help us much," muttered Ron.

"Well, it's a start. Plus, if he gets anything back from the Yukon coven, we might be able to break the curse on Hermione and everyone else! Even if we don't get the orb back, we can at least stop its progress," Harry said.

"But we have to get the orb, or at least stop whoever is using it. People have died! We can't let whoever is doing this get away with it," Ron practically cried in fevered excitement.

"Ron, I know. We_will_ stop it. But first thing's first. Let's shut down your guy here so we can all get home and work harder on learning more about this Quetzalcoatl Staff and how to break its power over people."

"Right," Ron drawled, lost in thought. "Well, I think I'll give Underhill some special project to work on, and then the rest of the team and I can bust this guy."

"Not to burst your happy little zone of optimism here, but what if Underhill wasn't your only traitor?" Draco finally spoke up.

Ron's face fell.

"Now, I must say, that entertained me." Draco smirked, earning a glare from both Ron and Harry. He simply shrugged, but continued. "I think you still need Harry and me and we should be included in the bust."

Harry nodded. "And, I would bring in Remus, too."

"I can't bring in all of these outside people on an official raid."

"When you're not sure of the integrity of your crew, you should. You need us."

"Fine. Call back Remus and let's get to planning. I want to get this over with."

* * *

"Plincher, any news from your front?" Ron asked in his usual debriefing. He wasn't expecting much and only half listened to his colleague. His mind kept returning to the warehouse and the wizard behind the black-market artefact dealings.

"Well, there were two more Dark items we collected that we believe were sold by our guy. One victim is in the hospital being treated for shriveled lungs. His prognosis isn't good," Plincher said in a subdued tone.

Ron nodded, growling to himself and staunchly trying _not_ to set his eyes on Bernard Underhill.

"Thanks Plincher. So, team, we have another tip that there might be an exchange at Dzibilchaltun. It isn't far from Merida, nor is it the only exchange that has happened at some of the ruins. The Temple of the Dolls is the expected site for the exchange. This is a night mission…" Ron picked up a clipboard and flipped through the papers, colour coded with yellows, blues and reds signifying their contents. Landing on a yellow sheet Ron scanned over the names, already knowing exactly what he would find. "Abbott. Underhill. You guys are up for the next night surveillance."

Abbott groaned. She hated the night jobs but she never skirted her duty. Ron assumed it was because she was trying to prove herself, being the newest member, and he also knew she wouldn't let Underhill skip out, either.

"Sorry guys," Ron offered, not at all sorry.

"Better you than me," laughed Meyers. "Hmm, comfy bed, some warm tamales, hot bath. Can't wait."

Underhill actually laughed back.

_Not tonight Meyers,_ Ron thought to himself. _Tonight you will see the action every Auror longs to see._

"Well, let's call it a day. Remember Abbott, Underhill, contact us immediately if anything seems suspicious." The two Auror's nodded and left for a quick meal before leaving for the ruins.

Ron would give them two hours and then call back the rest of the team. Then they would strike.

* * *

Everything stood quiet as a tomb, the still air holding no sound, embracing no heat. The team had been stationed around the warehouse for the last half hour, just watching for anything overt, running diagnostic spells over the area to fully measure its defenses.

Ron had brought in a new product designed by his brothers, only slightly modified for this intended purpose. It looked like a Roman candle to Harry and after Ron tapped it with his wand it let out a soft _woosh_. Nothing apparently happened, but Harry knew that tiny motes had ejected from the tube and slowly drifted over the area, alerting the operator to a multitude of planted curses. Just another fun product from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, working for an Auror team near you.

Meyers had urged Ron to call for the return of Underhill and Abbott. Ron stressed that the 'tip' about this warehouse might be a trick to lure them away from Dzibilchaltun or that an exchange still might be in progress and Ron didn't want to miss any possibility to capture the Dark Artefact peddler. Meyers eventually dropped her argument and prepared for the raid, excitement evaporating the caution she felt at being short staffed.

Plus, didn't Ron promise that a few other trusted men might join them as well? Probably not as good as two Aurors, but if Ron valued their skills and ability to back them up, then Meyers wouldn't argue.

The entire team was shocked to find the 'few trusted men' to be none other than Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and Remus Lupin. The members of the team grinned at the news, certain they wouldn't fail in this mission and pitied Underhill and Abbott who were stuck in a boring surveillance job.

Initially, things went slowly. Harry had gone up to the building and sent out his _feelers_, sensing the wards around the place and began to slowly dismantle them. Draco stood close by, guarding the wizard during this painstaking process since Harry became absorbed in his extended senses, not his immediate surroundings. Finally, after almost twenty minutes, Harry opened his eyes and nodded at Draco, who signaled to the team that they could enter.

It was soon after that that things went balls up.

* * *

"This place is totally rigged," Harry murmured to Draco.

"Well, you're not really surprised are you?" he asked. "This is a man dealing with Dark and cursed items. You didn't expect a big sign on the front door saying "Welcome, come peruse my wares" did you?"

Harry only grunted in return.

The team moved into the building following Harry's painstaking disassembly. Harry's senses strained to feel for any magic, to hear any noise. His enhancement cantrips hummed about him, a sense of magic washing over the other wizards and witches nearby.

The large, open room, ceiling arching high overhead, housed little, only a few boxes and crates organized in the centre. The Aurors fanned out and examined the edges of the room and after finding nothing, moved towards the wooden crates wrapped in steel and boxes made of cardboard. Hidden away in the centre of the piles was a stairway leading down into the floor.

Harry looked over at Ron, waiting for his lead. He wasn't the leader of this team anymore. He was a guest. He found it shocking how little that bothered him.

"Braithwaite and Burns, you go first. Followed by Potter and Malfoy. Lupin and I will follow next. Then Meyers and Plincher."

Harry frowned slightly. He knew that both Braithwaite and Burns were excellent at intrusion, but he still felt he should have gone first. _I'm a guest. I'm only a guest._ Perhaps it bothered him just a little. He stood by as the first set of Aurors descended the steps and then followed after the prescribed three minutes.

Harry stalked down the narrow tunnel with Draco close behind, wand up, scanning the darkness. He heard faint footsteps ahead of him from the other two Aurors, but no other noises reached his ear. The steps descended steeply and the corridor practically glimmered with layers of magic implanted in the stone and concrete surrounding them, giving way to wizard space.

Minutes slipped by as they continued down the steep grade and a soft noise finally tickled Harry's modified hearing. It was musical, like a hundred sopranos singing in melodic unison. Harry didn't recognize the words and wondered if it was mermaid song.

Harry and Draco soon caught up to the two Aurors ahead of them, waiting in the dark.

"What do you think that is?" Burns asked.

"No idea," Harry said. "Draco?"

"I'm not familiar with it," he said shaking his head.

The four men continued on in a pack now, Braithwaite and Burns still leading. The stairs finally leveled out and the pathway continued around a few sharp turns, apparently laid out at random intervals: the first after two minutes of walking, the next after one and so on. The song grew in volume, digging into Harry's eardrums. He pressed the heel of his hand to his ear and rubbed it, but it offered no relief.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked.

"Damn song is affecting my sound amplifier. I have to drop it."

Harry dropped the spell, not willing to risk bursting the fine bones in his ear canal. The song, so beautiful and joyous, pierced the air and distracted everyone with its shrillness.

"This is odd," offered Burns. "There isn't anything here. There're no security spells, no traps or curses, just a non-detection weave. It's like the guy's not at all concerned at being found out so didn't bother with any kind of defense."

It had been over an hour and Harry didn't like the feel of their situation. His gut told him it _was_ a trap and that they were walking into more than just a hidden tunnel. "Let's wait for the others," he suggested. Braithwaite and Burns eagerly agreed.

It didn't take long for Ron and Remus to catch up to them. "What's wrong?" Ron asked, casting a _lumos_ to illuminate the tunnel. In the faint light, the smooth walls continued for another thirty feet until the darkness enveloped the details.

"I don't like this… I think we should stick closer together," Harry said. Ron nodded in consent, seemingly unconcerned that Harry offered a suggestion contrary to his orders. Apparently, he felt the same way.

Remus sniffed at the air. "I don't smell anything, only us. I've been in wizard space this extensive before and usually it picks up some of the smells of the surrounding media. This must be brand new."

"Perhaps it's all set up for us, a nice red-carpet welcome," Draco said, scanning his featureless surroundings.

The entire team finally gathered and after a brief discussion, they slowly continued down the tunnel. The song, now loud enough to eat up all other sound, was the only characteristic of the place. Eventually the tunnel opened up into a large, square room, with doors on every wall and a large, gilded cage in the centre. Within the cage perched a large, dumpy looking bird. It had a huge beak, like a dodo, with the posture of a vulture, sparsely covered in brilliant blue feathers.

"What the hell?" Plincher said in awe, his words buried under the continual melody.

The group of people looked around at each other. Ron pointed to Braithwaite, Burns and Meyers and directed them towards a door, then indicated to Plincher to join him as he walked towards another.

"You three get that door, okay." Ron said, though Harry could only read the words as they formed on his friend's mouth. Harry nodded, offering Ron a supportive smile, and headed towards the door across the room from them.

Harry reached for the knob of the door when Remus grabbed his hand. "Did you check for any curses?" he asked, screaming over the bird's needling song.

Shocked, Harry realised he hadn't. "It's that damned bird," he said, gesturing towards the cage. "I can't think." He drew out his wand and with some effort, cast some revealing charms, circling the knob in concentric circles with his wand. The knob was definitely cursed, that much was certain, and as he prepared to disarm it, the door to the left exploded with a boom.

"HOLY FUCK!" Harry heard over the incessant din and he looked over to see Ron and Plincher running towards the smoke billowing around the door where Braithwaite, Burns and Meyers had been.

"Meyers? Burns?" Ron called out as he drew his wand. With a quick swish he performed a simple smoke clearing charm, taught to him by his mother during his bachelor days, and after the smoke dissipated, nothing was there, only an open door.

"Braithwaite!" Ron screamed over the singing bird. Harry paused and sensed the air around him, forcing himself to concentrate through the endless melody. He didn't feel the missing Aurors anywhere, which gave Harry some hope. He didn't sense their spirits, either.

"Ron. RON! Calm down." Harry tried to reach his friend, but Ron was mad with worry. Finally, Harry grabbed him by his shoulders and shook hard. "Ron, get a grip."

Ron looked at Harry with a haunted expression. "Harry, let me go." His words so soft Harry had to interpret lip motions once more. Draco and Remus stood nearby, wands at the ready, carefully guarding the open door. Plincher watched on, his attention split between Harry and Ron.

"That damned bird," Draco yelled over the song, holding his head with his hands, the grip on his wand slack. Then he raised his head with shoulders squared and stalked over to the cage. Wand lifted, he spoke incantation after incantation, casting a siege of spells. Nothing seemed to happen.

"Ron, they aren't dead. At least I don't think they are," Harry screamed into his ear.

"What? Another gut instinct?" Ron seemed more annoyed than relieved.

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry mumbled, knowing Ron couldn't have heard him.

"Well, we have to find them," Ron said loudly, the other men nodding in agreement. "Let's remove the wards on these doors before we do anything else."

A quick series of diagnostics made it apparent that this door no longer had spells protecting it. Apparently opening the door set the entire cluster off. So, Harry walked over to another door and, really forcing himself to focus, he undid the intricate spells. They were of a nature he hadn't seen before and a part of him wished he'd had time to study the unknown form of magic. The other part, the larger, more demanding part, wanted to go and find his friends.

After he finished he looked over to Ron and saw that he was still working on his door. Draco remained near the bird, now throwing obscenities at it accompanied by rude hand gestures, and Remus stood before the open door, staring down the long passage.

Harry walked over to Ron to help him finish breaking the wards, since he had done it once he figured he could dismantle them quicker the second time, but a scowl from Ron halted Harry's offer. After a few more minutes Ron finally broke the spells, but looked no more pleased then he had before.

"What now?" Harry asked loudly.

"You three continue down that tunnel and we'll go down this one. We have to find this bastard and find out where the others were ported to. But be careful, no hero stuff."

Harry snorted. "Don't worry," he yelled at Ron. "Keep in communiqué, okay."

"Won't work," Ron yelled back. "Not until we get away from this fecking bird. Just _be careful_."

Harry nodded and gripped his friend's arm, having his own gripped in return, and then he turned around and in a few long strides found himself at the door he had just disarmed. Remus and Draco appeared at his side, silent in the dodo's song.

"Can't shut that damned bird up. _Avada Kedavra_ didn't even work. I think the song negates verbal command spells." Draco scowled. Harry was shocked Draco would resort to such a spell, but didn't comment. No point in debating the ethical use of the Unforgivables now.

"Let's go." He reached for the knob and opened the door. Nothing happened and he released a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He stepped through the door followed by Draco then Remus. With a loud BANG it slammed behind them. Remus swiveled unhesitatingly and tried the door. It wouldn't open.

"_Alohamora_." It surprised nobody that the door remained locked.

"What the hell? What is this place, a sick fun house?" Draco yelled at them. Even with the door shut the bird song was still as loud as before.

The three men continued down the corridor, tall and square with no distinguishing features just as the other corridor had been before. A few side passages split off from the main branch, but the men continued on down the centre one, keeping a straight path. Harry walked first, wand held high glowing with a _lumos_ spell, followed by Draco with Remus taking up the rear. Slowly, so faintly they almost didn't notice, the corridor started to glow with light and eventually the lighted wand became no longer necessary and they realised the bird song was only a distant noise. Now, the heavy cadence of their booted steps reflected off the smooth walls sounding like an army on forced march.

Finally, they came upon a set of doors, one at the end of the hallway and two more on either side.

"This is stupid," Draco growled. "Pick a door, any door and see what new level of hell you fall into."

Harry couldn't agree more, and a sick feeling grew in his gut, reminding him of his fateful journey into the Department of Mysteries. The night his godfather fell and Harry lost the only family he'd had to some ethereal beyond. He looked to both Draco, who was who knew what to him, and to Remus, like the uncle he should have had and never did, his surrogate godfather, and vowed he would lose neither of them in this twisted maze.

"Okay, you guys test those doors and I'll check this one." Harry stepped forward to the door at the end of the hall and cast every diagnostic spell he could on the handle. He didn't notice anything. He heard Draco mumbling.

"This one's clear," Draco said to his left.

"Not sure about this one," Remus said. "There's something here, or beyond the door. I'm not sure." Harry and Draco turned towards Remus' door and performed their own diagnosis.

Neither came up with anything conclusive.

"I say we avoid it for now and check out one of these other doors first." With tacit consensus the men stood before the centre door, the one Harry had tested, and Draco reached for the handle and turned.

The door knob turned easily, as if it had been recently oiled, kept in pristine condition, and Draco pushed it, letting it swing open on its own. Nothing happened. No sound came from the room, no light, no smells. It was empty of everything, devoid of sensation.

"Well," Remus said. "I guess I'll go first."

"Knock yourself out," Draco said, gesturing for Remus to go forth, ever the valiant hero.

With a roll of the eyes Remus took a step into the room and was rewarded by an instant haze of pain and confusion.

* * *

Nothing was clear. His senses, all muddled and distorted beyond comprehension, left him feeling possessed by chaos. The air was thick, not only opaque but also full and heavy, making him desperate for clear air. A deep buzz blocked out all other sound and caused his insides to tremble at the tone. And the smell, so alien he forced himself to inhale through his mouth where he only tasted the retched miasma. His every cell ached with a pressure, like he was about to explode.

Remus turned and rushed out of the room; paying little attention to the route he took, just trying to escape that horrid cloud. Through one door he pushed, then down a hall he sprinted, skittering around a corner, through more passages, and then finally he paused for a breath of blessedly clean air. He leaned against a door, hunched over with his hands braced against his knees, gulping in deep breaths. It opened to his weight, spilling him into a small room.

Remus jumped to his feet, posed ready for attack. The ceiling above was glass--that grabbed his attention first--showing the sparkle of the night sky. _How can there be a glass ceiling to the sky in an underground room?_ It reminded him of the ceiling in Hogwarts' Great Hall and he gaped at the show of power in this underground compound. _Why_ was perhaps a better question, but then something else caught his attention and that train of thought ended.

The room was empty except for one thing.

An ancient doorway standing upright with a thin wisp of cloth covering the open entrance.

Remus growled up at that bone-white arch glowing under the moonlight. How it stood here, against all forces of gravity and momentum, he didn't know, but he did know something. This was a portal.

The cloth hung intact, like pristine lacework, so different from the ratty looking veil held by a similar arch sequestered deep within the Department of Mysteries. It stood solid and mocking; taunting Remus with secrets only it knew and would never share.

And the whispers… haunting, terrible in their ceaseless symphony, beyond comprehension but captivating in their insistency.

The filmy veil shifted as if in a slight breeze, the hollow whispers sneaking out behind the soft fabric.

"Remus," it sighed.

Remus sobbed. He knew that voice. It was thin and weak, on the edge of silent, just a few short syllables made whole by the wind. It meant nothing, he told himself.

"Remus," the diffuse word came again as the curtain fluttered, revealing a swirling blackness beyond.

"Who… What is this?" he choked out. "_You are not you_!" he screamed into the dark. And then his will broke and he sobbed aloud. "You can't be! I am so sick of shadows." These final, weak words fading from his lips.

He fell to his knees, prone before the iridescent arch, as a shadow walked through.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**  
_"What's going on in your head?  
What's wrong?"  
Howie Day – She Says_

Draco and Harry helplessly watched as Remus sprinted away. The smell _was_ terrible, but not _that_ terrible, and Draco wondered what other curse their friend must have shouldered to have been panicked like that.

"Do we go after him or wait?" Draco asked. He was inclined to follow Remus because in the man's fleeing fright Draco doubted he would pay much attention to the path he took to escape the cloud of gas. Of course he did have that exceptional nose… and Remus did harbour more sense than the average wizard.

Harry growled in annoyance. "We don't have time to waste. Who knows where the others have been taken to? We have to finish this now! Fuck!" Harry punched the stone wall and then gingerly shook his bleeding hand, the skin peeling off of his knuckles.

"Idiot," Draco admonished, taking Harry's hand in his and casting a simple healing charm. The torn skin slowly knitted itself together, completely bypassing the scab stage and heading straight for complete recovery. Draco rubbed his thumb over the newly grown skin.

He looked up and saw Harry staring at him, intensely and almost a little frantically. "Draco. They're gone. This is my watch, and they are gone." He dropped his gaze and hung his head.

"Harry. You're being an idiot. Listen, Remus can find us on his own. We can leave signs that he can follow once he calms his crazy, wolfy head and comes to his senses. Let's go." He regrettably dropped Harry's hand, grown warm in his own, and walked through the doorway.

Beyond was another stupid, annoying, monotonous hallway. The only unique thing about this passage was that in approximately 50-yard intervals a bright ball of pinkish light hovered in the centre of the flat ceiling, blanketing everything in a rosy glow. A small flight of stairs—about twenty risers from top to bottom—took them deeper into whatever mystery awaited them. They'd gone another half an hour—the only sound the beat of their steps—before they reached a great door, solid oak and carved with gruesome detail: people and animals drawn and quartered, entrails hanging off of fearsome pikes, the evil glint of glee in a demon's arched eyes.

"So, you think we've found the lost, final work of Rodin?" Draco mused, his soft drawl belying just how worried he really was. A strong feeling of doom emanated from the door, cultivating despair.

"It's cursed," Harry said.

"You don't say," Draco replied with a sigh. Nothing surprised him anymore down here, least of all a cursed door.

Harry raised his wand and the door silently swung open, revealing a pool of inky blackness unpenetrated by the pink glow of the bulb overhead.

Draco looked over at him, eyes wide. "That was quick," he said.

"I didn't do anything," Harry said, surprise evident in his quiet words.

"Well… Umm, Auror before beauty," Draco said quickly with an insensitive smile.

Harry rolled his eyes and stepped into the dark.

* * *

His foot landed on something that gave way and his nostrils were accosted with tiny, unknown particles that flitted through the already musty air. He sneezed. 

And then he was quickly pushed forward into the abyss as Draco followed him through.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. Ever heard of _Lumos_?" And muted light illuminated the dank hall of bones.

"Merlin, Harry. What the hell?"

Hell, indeed. The two men stood in a cavernous room, ceiling arching high in sweeping ribs like those of St. Paul's in London. The room ran long and thin, reminding Harry even more of the great cathedral. The skeletal remains of a host of beings coated the floor, so many that the two could not pass without stepping on them. Harry scanned the room and saw only one exit on the far side. At the narrow end stood a stone pedestal with a strong aura bombarding Harry in a very uncomfortable way.

And then… everything faded away. All care, all concern, all thought just evaporated into the air, leaving behind nothing but a drive to be nearer to the pedestal, taking precedence over all other desires.

He turned towards the pedestal and moved forward. Each step he took caused a cloud of bone dust to fill the air, like the spores of a calcified puffball. The bones didn't so much crunch as relinquished their hold on the shape they'd retained through the years, falling into powder. The smell was dry and the air tasted of lost years and sorrow.

But he ignored the bone dust and the soft "Harry" that called him from behind and thought only of that aura, that energy of magic that pulsed and pulled at him, like the hungry tentacles of a great, evil fiend.

"Harry?"

One foot in front of the other, leaving a trail of crushed femurs and skulls, dust puffing with each step, and finally he stood next to the pedestal. It was deep gray stone, scarred and pocked from unknown weapons or spells, and on it sat a long, wooden pole, carved with odd angular shapes and the faces of forgotten gods.

And it was beautiful. And Harry suffered a hole in his core that he'd never realised existed and _knew_ this relic would bring fulfillment to his empty, hollow life.

_Wizard, I am yours. Come to me, wizard._

Harry reached out an arm, shaking in want and anticipation, but was stalled. Pulling his awareness away from that which was all he ever desired, he noticed a hand on his arm, barring him from the promise of completion.

And that would not do.

"Harry, what are you doing? What's going on?"

Something in Harry stopped him from flicking away the insignificant tick crawling on his skin, buzzing at his peripheral senses. Part of him bent an ear and heard the words and drew his attention away from the relic.

Stiffly, Harry turned his head and looked over. A blond man whose hand rested on his, gripping him tight, stood there.

* * *

Empty. Harry's eyes were empty. 

Draco gasped at the hollow reflection of his wand's light in Harry's stare. His arm was a rigid branch of ironwood under Draco's hold.

"Harry?" Draco asked, forcing his voice calm though panic threatened to choke off his throat, block all words. "Harry, listen to me." The eyes remained on him, unrecognizing, but Harry's arm strained towards the wooden shaft lying on the stone pillar. "Harry?" A high, tinny tone overtook Draco's words. _Fuck! What do I do?_ And he did the first thing that popped into his frantic mind.

_"Petrificus Totalus_." He cast, forcing all of his magical mettle into that one spell, overriding Harry's natural defenses and causing his body to spring into a stiff board and fall backward to the stone floor crunching the remains of the dead beneath him.

"Shite. SHITE!" Draco screamed to the dead multitude. "_Mobilicorpus_." Draco turned and walked away from the pedestal, out towards the centre of the room with Harry's floating body bobbing behind him.

_New door? Old door?_He stood for a few moments and looked from the gothic door they entered to the less ornate--yet still gilded in silver and onyx--door to his right.

_Wizard…_

Draco jumped at the word, feeling cold fingers run over his mind and, with a shudder, he ran towards the silver door and stepped through, Harry's rigid body following.

He entered a hallway designed just like the same miles he'd traversed before and continued to run. He wasn't blind to his surroundings, but the majority of his senses were strained on the power of the artefact behind him and its deadly shrine. When he could no longer feel those icy caresses on his mind he stopped and laid Harry down on the dusty floor.

"_Finite Incantatum_."

Harry immediately slumped and then reached up to rub the back of his head where it had slammed against the floor.

"What the fuck!" he yelped, sounding quite pissed.

"What do you mean, 'What the fuck'?" Draco asked, slightly manic. "That's supposed to be my line!"

All fire and spit slipped away from Harry like an innocent maiden sneaking from the arms of her love, shy and tentative. "What just happened?" he asked hopelessly.

Draco swallowed and cleared his throat, but he still couldn't seem to find his voice. "Something…" he coughed once more. "I think it was the shaft of the Staff. Whatever it was Harry, it wanted you. It wanted you bad." Draco dropped the words; they sounded inane, even if their truth was explicit.

The two men sat for a while longer staring at each other, tense uncertainty aching in their muscles. Perhaps they should just get the fuck out of there. Screw the others and just flee this hellhole. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Draco tossed it aside, knowing not only that there was no way Harry would ever abandon his friends, but also understanding that he wouldn't either. Plus, there was the added intrigue of that Staff and Draco never was a man who could turn away from some new mystery of a magical artefact. He blamed Snape.

"We have to go back for it."

Harry's words came as no surprise but Draco's eyes still sparkled at their implication.

"And let that thing eat you?" Draco asked dryly.

Harry smiled a cocksure smile and said, "What do I have to worry about, I've got you to look out for me." And at that moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to kiss him. But then their situation raced through his mind: people were missing, they were lost and trapped, that artefact _was_ so powerful. This was not the time!

"Fuck it," he muttered and leaned forward, embracing Harry in a rough kiss. It was embarrassing, how eager and close he wanted to be to Harry, how even in this moment of death, he could brush it all aside as insignificant when he had Harry in his arms. Between kisses, Draco breathed sweet words over Harry's lips; silent promises that he hoped fervently to keep once they saw the light of day. He never knew his heart could beat this fast.

"We'll just grab the thing…" kiss to the forehead, right over Harry's crossed scars "…and disarm it… somehow…" kiss over the right eye "…and then we'll find Remus, should be easy enough…" kiss over the left eye "…and then hook up with Ron…" kiss on the nose "…and find our missing Aurors and get the hell out." Long, slow kiss on the lips, which Harry eagerly returned, gripping Draco as firmly as he held Harry in his own arms.

God, when he felt like this, he knew he could take on the world.

With regret, Draco broke the kiss with a sigh, his eyes tilted down staring at Harry's chest, coaxing his unfettered passion to listen to reason. But how could cold reason ever compare to the fire of passion? He chuckled to himself, realizing he very well could lose this battle, not that he really wanted to win.

Harry burrowed his face into Draco's neck; hot breaths ghosting across his smooth skin. Draco's eyes fell closed and he moaned as his nipples hardened.

"God, Draco. You… you're so beautiful." And Draco knew the Ice Prince never stood a chance.

"We have to…" Draco said breathlessly, gesturing towards the hallway they had just come from, wishing it would just disappear and the two wizards would find themselves back home, surrounded by friends, safe from sentient pieces of wood and crazy dungeon builders.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know. So, how do we beat this thing?" He climbed to his feet and took a step away from Draco, visibly steeling himself for their current task.

"You're asking me? You're the most powerful wizard alive!" Draco laughed with an edge of bitterness.

"Maybe, but you're the most brilliant wizard alive… so you come up with the plan and I'll put it to use." Harry grinned crookedly and Draco relaxed.

"Most brilliant? What about Hermione?"

"Well, she's not here to help me, so I thought I would bequeath you with the honour."

"What? Buttering me up?"

"Anything to pad that ego in times of need," Harry said cheekily.

Draco snorted. "Fine… How are you on Occlumency?"

Harry took a deep breath, puffing his cheeks, and let the air out in a slow leak. "Well, it never was one of my strong points…"

"Figures. Well, it is one of _my_ strong points. Hmm… Wait!" he said with excitement. "I've an idea. Never done before though…" He said those last words to himself.

"What?" Harry asked, Draco's enthusiasm obviously catching.

"Okay. Well, first hear me out. You suck at blocking things from your mind, though I am quite adept at it." Harry cocked his eyebrows at Draco. "Oh come on, it's true. You have more power, though. So here's my idea. You let me into your mind and I block you from the staff, using you as a king of… enhancer."

Through Draco's explanation Harry's eyebrows had gone through an exquisite dance all over his forehead and now they hunched together in a position than relayed a very solid message of 'what the fuck'. "Is that even possible?" he asked.

With a shrug, Draco said, "Don't know, but if it can be done, I'm sure we're the ones who could pull it off."

"Hmm, okay then. Come on in." Harry looked unsure and definitely concerned.

"Don't worry, Harry. I won't muck around in there. I promise." He laid his hand on Harry's arm, who smiled at the reassuring gesture.

Draco lifted his wand and laid the point on Harry's temple. Barely above a whisper, he said "_Legilimens_" and dove into Harry's mind.

He'd never used Legimency on someone who remained wide open for him, all barriers reduced to mere windows. If he wanted to, Draco knew he would steal a vast portion of Harry's life, know his history, his secrets, his fears… his desires, but he wouldn't do that. A few months ago, maybe, but now there was just no way he would ever betray the man whose thoughts swirled around him like dancing children.

And with that thought, one memory manifested and a small, scrawny boy walked towards Draco out of the scattered vortex. He was sad, Draco knew this, and he watched as the boy stared at his holey shoes as he took step by step towards him. The shoelaces flapped against the non-existent ground as each step was taken. Finally, the little boy stopped a few feet before him and then lifted his head.

"Are you here to help us?" asked the little boy in a small, yet echoing voice. It was Harry, albeit a much younger version.

"Yes," Draco said, his own voice sounding flat and two-dimensional. He crouched down before the young Harry Potter, rough in his abuse, sorrowful in his loneliness. "I'm here to help you, but you have to work with me. Understand?"

Young Harry nodded and sniffed a bit, wiping his nose with the arm of his oversized shirt. It was blue plaid and had holes in the elbows and splatters of paint over the left side and chest pocket. It reached to his knees.

"Do you know who I am?" Draco asked, unsure exactly where the question had come from.

The boy's bright eyes darted down to the floor again and he seemed to lose mass, crumble a little under the question.

With unknown compassion, Draco reached forward and grasped the boy's hands, pulling him towards Draco. At first, young Harry tried to pull away, frantic, but soon he gave up in defeat, as if resigned to whatever punishment he was to receive.

Draco hugged him, snotty shirt and all.

Young Harry clutched to him and began to cry.

In memories, time is fleeting and time is eternal. Draco continued to hug this younger, somehow stuck version of Harry until the tears ran dry and he pulled away sniffing and rubbing at his eyes.

"Better?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "Who are you?"

"I'm Draco. I was almost your very first friend… but it didn't quite work out."

"My first friend?" Harry asked in awe, eyes lighting up with excitement. "We were almost friends?"

The joy the boy expressed at _almost_ having a friend broke Draco's heart. "Well, we are friends now, but we didn't become friends for a long time after we met. You have tons of friends now. Many people who love you."

"People love me?" That odd echoing voice faded into silence and a curious expression showed on Harry's face. He almost looked afraid.

"Yes Harry. Many people." He reached up and petted the mat of dark hair, the curse scar showing as he brushed it aside. And then Draco offered a crooked grin and said, "I love you." Holy shite, where did that come from?

No trace of the fear Draco thought he'd seen remained on the boy's face, for he smiled such a beautiful smile it burned away everything but hope and joy and love. Draco relaxed at his unexpected declaration and briefly hugged the boy again then gently let him go.

"Okay, Harry. I need you to listen to what I have to say. This is very important." The boy nodded, eyes plastered on Draco, ready to absorb his instruction. "There is something that wants to force you to do something you don't want to."

Young Harry nodded. "I know. I struggled but I couldn't stop it." A scared frown replaced the previous smile.

"Well, I am going to help you so it won't do that again, okay?" Harry nodded again, but still looked worried.

Hmm, how was he going to do this? Draco tried to think of a way to transfer his Occlumency skills to Harry, but he really had no idea how to go about doing that. Here he met a version of Harry who came out of the formless mass of thought and memory and interacted with him. Maybe that was the trick. Perhaps if he kept a connection with kid Harry they could keep the staff at bay, at least until they could get it back to the Ministry where they must have ways to deal with these types of intelligent artefacts. He just had to think of how he was going to harness Harry's power.

"What we need to do, Harry, is build a wall. If our wall is strong enough, that bad thing can't get us. Can you help me build the wall?" Harry nodded uncertainly.

"I will show you how to form each brick, but you have most of the stone already. After I show you, I bet you can make them better and faster than I could."

"Really?" he asked, his small voice echoing into forever.

"I'm certain. Okay. Here is how we make a brick." Draco pulled his power together and forced his magic to look like a brick. He imbued it with mental shielding energy, the foundation of Occlumency. What he ended up with was a rather rough looking stone with a slight similarity to a brick. "Well, that isn't very pretty, is it?" he mused.

"I should make that?" Harry asked with young scorn. "I can make a better brick than that!"

"I don't know…" Draco said playfully. "It's pretty tough. I don't want you to push yourself too hard."

Harry harrumphed and then held out his hands facing each other about a foot apart. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face and slowly, out of nothing, a perfect stone brick appeared. "There! Much better than your brick." He handed it over to Draco with pride.

It completely put his square, stone-like thing to shame. It overflowed with that same shielding energy with which Draco had imbued his own brick. "Well, yes. This is a lovely brick. Now make some more so we can build our wall."

With a delightful giggle, Harry presented Draco with brick after brick, strong and sturdy and filled with the right mental shielding energy. Draco began to pile them up, staggering them in a running bond pattern and with his own power, mortaring them together to form a sturdy wall. In no time they had a wall taller than Draco and about ten feet long, a solid representation of the mental barrier he helped create in Harry's mind.

With the exertion of mortaring the bricks, Draco almost lost his place in Harry's mind, but young Harry seemed tireless and he built five more bricks before Draco urged him to stop. "Woah there, kipper. I think we have enough bricks now." He presented the wall to the young Harry who eagerly clapped his hands together in glee.

"Will this be good enough, will it keep out all the bad things?"

"Well Harry, I think it will help keep out all the bad things… but just to be safe, I am going to leave something here for you… but only for a while." He collected his thoughts and dug into his pocket, pulling out a small figure of a gold dragon. "So I'm leaving this here. If you think you can't hold the wall, just grip this dragon and think real hard about me, okay?"

Harry reached out and took the small figurine. He held it with quiet reverence and nodded at Draco's words. "I'll make sure to call you if I need you. Does this mean you're leaving?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, but I have to go. You, outside of here, you need me. I need to go." He squatted down next to the small boy once again and offered a reassuring smile. "Just remember, I'm always by your side."

"Okay," Harry said, bursting out into a broad grin once again. With wide open arms, he threw himself at Draco and squeezed him with all his might. "I'm happy you're by my side, Draco," he whispered in Draco's ear, the odd echo tickling the hair on his neck.

Draco stood and waved goodbye has he retreated from Harry's mind, passing through the unformed memories and thoughts and finally finding himself in his own body once again.

"Wow. That certainly was different," he said, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked up at Harry and saw a curious expression. "What?"

"I can feel… that was odd. Very odd, Draco. What did you do?"

"Well, I met a kid version of you and we built a wall. I gave him the skill and he put in the power." He reached out to the golden dragon and could feel it inside Harry, feel a tiny hand gripping that portion of him he left behind. "If it looks like the wall will fail, I will try to help sustain it." He shrugged, unsure of exactly how to explain what he'd just done.

"A kid version of me? You didn't…" Harry uncomfortably looked down at his hands. "You didn't rifle through my childhood did you?"

"Harry, hell… I told you I wouldn't. Actually, you came out and talked to me, so it wasn't me invading, but more like you sending a welcome committee. Anyway, let's get going. See if this things works."

"I feel different," Harry said in an oddly quite voice. His gaze looked up from his hands and pierced Draco with its intensity.

Moments, like memories, are fleeting. Draco knew this. And as he stared into those vibrant green eyes, so alive and sparked with wonder, he wished he could somehow capture this remarkable moment that passed between them.

"Well, I'm still connected to you. That could be it. And it's somewhat tiring, so…" he moved his hand in a continuous circling gesture, urging them onward.

"Alright. Let's go." The moment dissipated, as Draco knew it would.

The two men retraced their steps and opened the silver gilded door into the room of bones.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**  
_"Come on, come on  
Put your hands into the fire."  
Thirteen Senses – Into the Fire_

_"Come to me, wizard."_

Harry flinched as the words tried to bend his mind. Tiny tendrils tickled at his untouched corners of thought trying to bypass his strong will and sense of self. But something within him grew heavy, almost like a concern or worry, and then the power of the staff stopped cold, as if it had hit some immovable force.

A sharp intake of breath caused him to look over at Draco, now leaning against the stone wall to his side, his skin having gone pale and ghostly in the flickering light of their wands.

That heaviness within grew.

"Draco?" Harry asked, barely above a whisper.

"Don't bother me, Potter. I'm kind of busy right now." Draco looked over at Harry and offered a weak smile, a thin trickle of sweat sliding down his brow.

Crap! Harry closed his eyes and tried to build up those barriers within him, remembering those long ago lessons with Snape that never made any sense. He brought up the image of a younger version of himself and Draco as he knew him now, having a quiet, civilized conversation within him building a mental wall together. He focused on the heavy feeling and added his power to it, though it strangled him to do so.

Opening his eyes, he looked over at Draco, who wiped at his brow with the back of his arm, leaving damp splotches on his sleeve. He glanced at Harry and smiled. "Thanks," he said as he took in deep breath after deep breath. "See," he said smiling brightly, "I told you we could do this together. Just keep feeding the wall that overabundance of energy you have and I'll keep up its integrity."

Harry nodded, completely awed at the length Draco was going to help him. "But… Draco. We can't keep this up. I mean, look at you. And I have to say I don't feel all that fabulous myself."

"We'll figure something out. Let's go see about that staff."

They trod carefully across the piled remains to the pedestal and looked down upon the staff. It seemed innocent enough, until Harry really focused on it and felt pulses of energy and magic reaching out to him, insinuating and invading his own core of magic. But as he watched he could see that they never gained any hold on him, never discovered a way through the barrier that Draco had built.

Now he realised he faced a new dilemma. He needed the staff to cure Hermione and break the spell on the Ministry. Not to mention the vast number of potential other victims who could come under sway of this cursed object. How could he transport it without it wearing Draco and him down or without it trying to consume some other wizard?

Well, he guessed he'd just have to build another wall around _it_.

* * *

"You sure this is going to hold?" Draco asked as he stared at the staff all wrapped up in what looked like mummy's gauze. It'd been Harry's idea, to somehow nullify the power emanating from the staff, and they'd come up with a binding spell modified with an inhibiting charm. Draco mentioned an artefact he had stored in his collection, ancient mummy wraps, and Harry couldn't seem to get that image out of his head, so his magic had formed into the guise of tattered gauze. The world loved to mock Draco's sense of propriety. 

"Yep… Well, I'm pretty sure, anyway," Harry said while flipping the staff from one hand to the other, causing Draco to flinch each time it slapped into his grip. Ever since he'd retreated from Harry's psyche, his friend had been in an oddly childish mood. It seemed Draco had inadvertently triggered something during his wall building session with Harry's young self. Not to mention Harry's pure relief at not having to constantly fight the staff's possession.

"Would you stop that?" Draco pleaded. He cringed at the thought of the staff somehow dropping and losing its shackles, resulting in it blowing them both up, or even taking over their minds and magic, leaving them mindless zombies, or worse—squibs.

"What's wrong, Draco? Scared of a little piece of wood?" He shook the artefact at Draco, mimicking an old witch doctor's cure or curse. He even giggled.

"That little piece of wood almost subsumed your identity, Potter," he said, admonishing the juvenile behavior. "You might want to treat it with a little respect, if not caution."

Harry dropped his arm to his side, still gripping the length of wood. He hung his head and peered at Draco through his thick fringe. "I'm sorry, Draco. I promise I won't taunt you with the evil artefact anymore."

"Oh, sod off, you immature git," Draco began, but was soon cut off by an anguished scream coming from beyond the grand, ornate door.

"NO!" It echoed strangely, hanging in the air like a fog, stretching out into time.

* * *

Remus leaned forward over his knees, his head tucked low, protecting his delicate innards as he waited for the devil that walked through the arch to bite him deep and rip out his soul. 

He never expected the chilled caress that brushed the back of his head, the tingly touches combing through his tousled hair. A shiver quaked his body that he could not suppress. What was this? What was happening?

With desperate fear he curled in even more, clutching at his knees, bringing them tight against his chest. He fell to his side with a soft 'thud'.

Then an explosion of light, like the flash of a Polaroid, filled the space behind his eyes. He knew it was in his mind because his lids were squeezed tightly shut, warding against the figure from the bone-white arch, hoping to banish it from existence with the sheer force of his disbelief.

"You're not you. You're not you," he continued to mutter, like a mantra defending against the Dark.

In the flash was an image, a negative reversal of a white dog in a black backdrop, tongue lolling; a goofy look about the canine.

Remus whimpered at the image.

Flash. The picture changed and now there was the white dog and a faded wolf together in a silent, still pose, the wolf ready to pounce.

Tears began leaking through the titan clenching of his eyes.

Flash. Tall man, black skin and white hair, cocky grin and dark eyes. Eyes that should be bright, brilliant almost, twisted in the odd slideshow parody.

"No…" he whimpered, whinging to the universe, hoping some divine consciousness would take pity on him and end this torment. This soul-wrenching torment.

Flash. The man again, his face closer this time, his eyes more intense, a look so full, so overtaken by emotion it caused Remus to choke on another sob.

Cringing, cowering, Remus flinched as he felt those fingers continuing to pet, to card through his hair, sending sparks of magic coursing through his body. Magic and something else. Something cold and dead and empty and_hungry_.

Something inside of Remus snapped. Suddenly, he stood, pushing away at the thing, gaining his feet to face this demon with the face of an angel. "NO!" he screamed.

* * *

Draco and Harry sprinted down the corridor towards the direction of the cry. "That had to be Remus," Harry sputtered with barely enough breath to speak. Draco agreed, but he felt no need to waste air on stating the obvious. Harry was already ahead of Draco, much to his annoyance, and Draco vowed he would start a new exercise regimen as soon as this entire fiasco concluded. The two darted around a corridor and Draco saw an open door before them. Something like ice chilled the blood in his veins at the sight of the innocuously open door. 

Harry pulled ahead, wand at the ready, and with unprepared momentum truly worthy of any Gryffindor, he raced through the doorway.

Draco watched as Harry bolted into the room and saw something that seemed to suck out every gram of energy from the man. At once, Draco skidded to a halt just outside the door. There was no way he would charge in there like the cavalry. Draco was not the cavalry type; he was the crafty backup type.

With his shoulder to the wall, he glanced into the room, the angle only allowing him to see Harry as his friend fell to his knees, eyes wide with shock and… what was that? Fear? Wonder? Draco wasn't quite sure, maybe it was all of those combined. Or maybe it was something more basic and primal.

With a smooth wand motion, Draco cast a reflection charm on the edge of the doorframe. He had to see what had taken over Harry and caused Remus to scream like that. In that small, shiny surface he saw a ghost… no, not a ghost. A shade perhaps? He wasn't certain exactly what it was, but it looked exactly like his cousin. Exactly like Sirius Black.

And he was walking towards Harry.

"AAGGHHHH!" Draco screamed as he jumped into the room, wand aimed sharply at the phantom Black. _Not the cavalry_, he mentally yelled at himself. "Back off. I don't know who or what you are, but by fuck's sake if you take one more step I will disintegrate you with a flick of my wand." Draco's heart pounded in his chest causing it to tighten and convulse against his ribcage, demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing. He realised he had no answer to that.

"Draco?" came the soft call from behind him. Yes, he realised, he'd jumped between Harry and this man who looked like Black liked a damned hero. Like a Gryffindor. Repentance was certainly due.

He darted his eyes back to look at Harry, who had this feeble, helpless thing about him that was just not on. Remus had fallen to his side and wept into his hands and this image of Black-- he couldn't think of a better word for it because he wasn't quite solid, almost distorted like he was made from bad TV reception--just stood and watched them all with an oddly sad smile.

"Who are you?" Draco demanded of the figure.

The figure dipped his head to the right, saying nothing, silent. Yet Remus flinched and screamed, "Stop it! Stop tormenting me!" His words trailed off into a hollow sob. Admittedly, Draco was at a loss.

Time to change tactics. "Remus? What's going on?" Remus only shrieked out at his question, like he was drowning in the Cruciatus, twitching as he lay on his side and then he fell suddenly limp. Draco cursed; guess that tactic failed.

"Sirius? Is it you?" Draco twisted around to stare at Harry, whose faint words were seeped in hope. "Sirius…" Harry stood, first pushing to one foot and then the other, when he tripped on the staff left forgotten on the dusty floor. It rolled away from him, the gauze slowly unravelling.

"Shite!" The word erupted from Harry's lips and he stared down in horror at the staff. Unexpectedly, Harry gripped at the sides of his head; his eyes crammed shut in pain and fear. "Draco. Draco! Help me!" Draco felt that tug from Harry, that draining effect as he remembered the brick wall, gave his strength to its integrity and to young Harry within. He felt a grip on that part of him left behind, his golden dragon, tight and desperate.

Draco reached for the staff, ready to wrap the cursed thing up again, when he felt the edges of that twisted magic touch him.

_Mine… so tasty… so powerful. You are mine._

Crackling tendrils of invasive magic grasped onto Draco and tried to dig their way into him, into his own magical core, to eat at him, consume him. Fighting for his life, Draco slammed his Occlumency walls up, trying to ward off the power of the staff.

_How the hell had it got so strong? What the fuck am I going to do? _

Little by little Draco felt the influence of the staff overwhelm his defenses, tugging his wall down brick by brick. His fortifications crumbled like so much mud and straw.

A small portion of his attention not focused on blocking the staff's invasive might, watched as Harry writhed on the ground and Remus lay like a rotting corpse. The shite had hit the fan and Draco railed at how fucked up this entire night had become. They had been bested—bested by some crazy fun house operator with a fetish for dangerous toys. It seemed they would never be through with fighting against some variety of insanity.

The staticy form of Black reached down and ran his hand over Remus. Remus twitched but settled again once the hand was removed. Then the figure went to touch Harry.

"Keep your hands off him!" Draco screamed. Everything was falling apart. Everything was over. "Leave him alone!" Brick by brick.

The figure stopped and looked up. His vacant, opaque eyes settled on Draco. Draco couldn't read that expression because there wasn't one. There was nothing on that face. You couldn't even call it blank… it truly was… nothing. Blankness offered at least a sense of something hidden behind, tucked away, but here… Draco shuddered and realised there was nothing he could do. They had lost.

_Wizard. You are mine._

Brick.

And Draco's mind began to slowly go blank. It didn't matter. None of it really meant much of anything anyway. He just wanted some sleep, to rest. He'd been fighting for so long and didn't he deserve an end to all of the struggle?

Didn't he deserve peace?

_Mine._

He closed his eyes and sighed. Pools of blackness danced before his eyes. Peaceful vast nothingness.

* * *

It was another land in another time and he was another person all together. How long had he been here? Where was here? He remembered a room with an arch, but it seemed long ago. He remembered curling in on himself and then it was all black. 

He couldn't focus on his surroundings. It wasn't really dark, but it wasn't light, either. The landscape, if you could call it that, was vast… endless. But there was nothing distinct at all. He was standing on a field of clouds in a gray wash of existence. Everything cast in shadow. He was between the worlds.

He was unfound.

Remus sniffed the air, trying to catch some scent, some kind of characteristic to this realm, but he could sense nothing. The air was empty.

He stood for ages--time held no power here--and finally he could see something upon the horizon. A dim speck slowly growing in mass, gaining size and dimension as it closed in on him.

It was a dog. A large, black and shaggy dog loping his way, large, pink tongue dangling from a grinning muzzle. Remus threw his head back and howled and was shocked to notice he was Moony. He was the wolf. When had that happened? He looked up into the sky and searched for the moon, but there was nothing, only that same muted gray.

A large weight landed on his side and he heard a slight 'huff' in his mind. No, not heard… just sensed. Knew. He flipped around and tackled Padfoot in response, gripping his throat between his strong jaws. The body below him went slack and submitted to his dominance. Satisfied, Remus (no, Moony) stood and ran, ran for the edge of the endless clouds, ran for joy and freedom, yipping for Padfoot to follow. He sensed the dog behind him, racing and full of life and the two sped across the fields of shadow.

Power and strength and bottomless vitality pumped through him with each stride he took. He never grew tired. Eventually he stopped to play, to reconnect with the dog (_man_), his companion forever. Even death could not separate them. Not even death.

"Moony." Again, the word was implanted as knowledge.

"Padfoot?" Remus said, or growled… or thought. He wasn't quite sure in this land of purgatory.

He was tackled again and licked all over, a happy, loving caress that stirred Remus' blood, brought about feelings he, as Moony or as Remus, had never felt before. He growled in the back of his throat, a growl that turned to a moan that no wolf's throat could really produce.

This was Padfoot. This was Sirius. His pack mate. His best friend. Would he… could he be more?

But he was dead, gone, dust in the wind.

But he wasn't. He was right here. Flesh and bone.

And then he was man again, lying below Sirius, whose curious expression and cocked smile bubbled a delighted laugh from Remus. The sound echoed into forever.

Sirius leaned forward, slowly, inch by inch and Remus stopped his laugh, the echo fading into silence. An anticipatory weight filled the air and Remus waited, holding completely still as Sirius closed the distance between the two.

_Sirius_.

Remus reached up and ran one finger from the corner of his friend's eye to his chin. Yes, this was Sirius. Real. Solid.

Sirius smiled and drew closer, softly landing his lips on Remus'.

Something clicked. This was right. This was the way things were always meant to be and always would be and eternity would be found in every minute with Sirius by his side. With Sirius in his arms.

But eternity meant nothing in purgatory.

A sudden sense of anxiety struck him. He searched for where it stemmed from… From Sirius? No. He felt nothing but love and comfort from Sirius. It came from _out there_. Somewhere beyond these barren fields. Out there.

"We must return." Remus received a splash of images of Harry and Draco struggling, fighting, and a growing sense of dread built in his bones. He also sensed that Sirius wanted to, no, _needed_ to protect them.

Sadly, Remus nodded, and slowly, with the motion of paint sliding down a vertical wall, the world dripped away.

Immediately a scent of placid obscurity reached his nose and he jumped to his feet in an instant. Where was the fear, the desperation he had smelled here before? He noticed Harry and Draco slowly walking from the room. Harry gripped a long stick and something about that stick stripped Remus of all that lofty courage his House was reputed for. It seemed to tingle and tickle, taunting him to come forward and grip it as well… to give in to it. To give up to it.

Moony rose high within Remus, offering his strength and anger and sheer will and he pulled away from the temptation.

To his right Sirius stepped forward, quickly catching up to the two men. Remus followed, watching the crackling image as it reached forward and gripped the staff.

"No!" Remus ordered, lurching forward to pull Sirius away, to keep him from the tremendous power of the artefact.

But he was too late. Sirius gripped the long staff of wood and pulled it from Harry's grip, pulling it into his insubstantial form, absorbing it, and slowly he sunk to his knees.

Remus howled… this wasn't a dream, or a vision in some other land, far, far away; he howled in anguish as his friend fell once again.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Hope everyone had a good holiday. Sorry for my long absence, but you should know the story IS finished, I just need to polish up the last few chapters. And here, just for you, is another chapter (sorry about the cliffhanger.)

* * *

**Chapter 19**  
_"I'm a firestarter, twisted firestarter."  
Prodigy - Firestarter_

At first everything fuzzed out, seemed to lose its form and definition, but only for that immediate instant. In the next second reality snapped back into crystal clear mayhem.

"Sirius!" the scream came in stereo, one from Draco's left side and the other from his right, and as he looked on, the staticy form of Sirius Black faded out to nothing.

Nothing.

Remus crumbled to the ground. The spit and fire he'd been full of completely seeped away as his blank face stared at the empty spot on the floor that Sirius had just occupied. His only action was the minute murmur of his lips, the repetitive movement that Draco eventually read as "Sirius."

It was another tableau of loss; one Draco had become intimately familiar with.

They had to get out. He didn't know what to do about the loss of the staff, but he knew these passages and walls would leach the heat and life out of them if they stayed.

He looked to Harry, then to Remus. "Come on, we're leaving." Both men turned their heads to face him, looking completely lost and unsure. Fine. Let them fall into a crevice of despair, let _them_ leave _him_ to solve this. Fine.

"Come on. Get off your arses. We Are LEAVING!"

Both men continued to stare at him, apparently unmoved by Draco's exclamation. Finally, Remus rose to his feet and took a step towards him. Draco took that as a positive sign.

He reached for Harry, snatched his wrist and pulled his unresisting body towards him. Then he reached for Remus, who pliantly let himself be hauled forward as well. And so, with the two men in tow like misbehaving school boys, Draco turned from the moonlit room and bone-white arch to search for an escape from purgatory.

Right now he had to watch out for them, had to protect them. They were buried under tonnes of dirt and stone, their minds bent and taut, ready to snap under anymore pressure, from just one more shock. Even as they followed him blindly, he still clung onto the fact that they were there, behind him, every step of the way. It was easier to think of them stressed and blank with trauma than to imagine the alternative, because he didn't want to think what it would mean if they weren't there with him at all.

Stalking down the hallways—as always smooth and nondescript—he immediately ran across a T in the tunnels that he didn't recognize. He realised with resigned horror that he was lost. _Fine_. He looked down the left passage then down the right, blue globes lining both ceilings, their soft glow lighting the passageways. Nothing different. Nothing to separate the two. So, he turned right.

And then the next right and the next and he continued on, climbing up and down stairs, walking down hallways, always going right.

_This is so fucked up. What the hell am I supposed to do?_ Right. _Why do these two worthless sods get to take a happy little mental vacation and I'm stuck here in fucked up Wonder Land hoping to avoid demon birds, evil sticks of wood and being forced to humour the twisted sense of amusement of one definitely mentally imbalanced Dark wizard._ Long hallway. Right._ Why me. What did I do wrong? God, are you listening? Do you even exist? While I'm not saying you don't… It's just that, I've no proof. _Stairs down. Right. _Give me some proof. I'm sure you can pull something out of your omnipotent sleeve and Apparate us out of this mess. Break the little staff for us. _Long tunnel of nothing. Stairs up. Right. _Cure Hermione. Be the hero here, God. Save the Day! I promise to pay you homage every day, even build you a grand temple if you can just get us _Right _out _Right _of _Right_ here!_

"Wait," Harry finally said, coming out of his self-induced daze.

_Hallelujah!_

"There's something." Harry turned back toward a door Draco had just dragged them past.

"What?" Draco asked, slightly frantic with the endless repetition of his surroundings, not to mention his recent talk with God and the fact that he had resorted to begging. Begging of all things!

Harry shook his head and then rubbed his face down with the palms of his hands. His eyes gained some focus and Draco relaxed. "Let's go in here," Harry said, this time more confident, more himself.

Remus sniffed the air and said, "They're in there."

"Who," Draco asked, growing annoyed. He'd add 'develop super sensitive senses' to his to-do list once he returned home.

"Meyers, Braithwaite and Burns. I'm certain."

Inwardly delighted his friends had snapped out it, Draco still huffed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, so now you return to the land of the living, whistling Dixie like nothing's amiss. Typical."

"Whistling Dixie?" Harry asked, looking over at Remus, who only shrugged.

Draco snorted as he turned to the door and searched for curses. The door pulsed with magic, practically groaned under the weight of it. But they weren't all curses or warding spells. Intricately imbedded in the molecular bonding of the doorway were containment magics such as he'd never sensed before. There had to be something big behind this door. Bigger than the arch. Bigger than the staff. Bigger than…

"This is the way out," Harry said flatly.

"We can't leave," Remus blurted. Then, "There's the staff." Honestly, Draco had his own theory as to what Remus really didn't want to leave behind, but decided against calling the man on his lame excuse.

Harry finally seemed to have shaken himself fully awake; his features sharpening from the slack-jawed-yokel look to that of astute Auror once again. "You're right. We can't leave yet, but we _can_ figure out how to escape this sick farce and bust this door open."

All three men were in agreement.

And after a few minutes of analyzing the complex matrix of spells within the door, they each realised this was not a spell they could break. At least, not in the amount of time they had available to them. Dizzy, Draco could only impotently caress the wall of spells with his own harmless investigation, his breath emerging as soft pants under the strain. He looked to the other two men and saw the same exhaustion forcing lines around their eyes and a hunched posture to their shoulders.

"I hate to be the one to point out the obvious," Draco said, "But this is not working."

Harry kicked at the door. Remus' wand hand dropped to his side and then he glanced down one length of the hallway and then the next. The soft blue glow above them highlighted them all in a ghastly wash. Draco hated to think about what it was doing to his complexion. Idly, he ran his fingers through his hair and then immediately stopped when he noticed Harry watching him. Harry gave a tired smile and he returned it. Happy that, though he wanted out of his impossible wizard space, he was stuck there with Harry.

"Well, we have to get through somehow. Our friends are on the other side."

"I've an idea," Remus said. He stepped towards the door and laid his palms across the smooth, wooden surface, his wand pressed against it under one hand. Slowly, the man leaned forward and rested his forehead against the door. Draco watched as nothing happened. Finally, he thought he could hear something. He took a step closer to Remus and bent forward to listen closely. Soft murmurs. He could hear soft murmurs and Draco was amused to discover Remus was sweet-talking the door.

* * *

"Come on, give up your secrets, tell me your secrets, you know you want someone to talk to, someone to confide in, someone to share this with…" Remus continued his tender whispers to the door and the magic beyond it. He recognized this magic, this kind of spellwork that held a remnant of some intelligence to it, and inadvertently that kind of sentient portion of a spell always gave in to the right kind of coercion. 

Just like the map.

"You're a smart little spell, aren't you? Intricate, delicate, so extraordinary…"

"_Yes, I am_."

Shocked at the rumbling, yet quiet words, Remus still chuckled at the unassuming arrogance. He knew this kind of magic. _Understood_ it. Sorrow brushed his already aching heart as he remembered creating the map with Sirius, James and Peter. Sirius, gone again. All of the hard work, all of the exploration and study and experimentation they'd done. The map was the final brush stroke to the masterpiece of their friendship. First it was their discovery of his lycanthropy. Then they had become animagi. And finally, the map. It should have cemented them together, tighter than any bond, and Remus had thought that it had. How had it gone so wrong?

"I've never seen any spell so strong or so clever. Nothing is your equal. I would find peace and enjoyment in studying how you were created for the rest of my days." And in a way, Remus meant it.

"_How could something like that satisfy you? You, who are living? You who can move about and experience the act of existing? You are awfully silly._"

Remus chuckled. "True. Perhaps you are correct. Since I don't have a lifetime to study you, could you possibly tell me how to pass by you? We would really like to leave this place and get on with experiencing our existence."

"_I am here to guard, to not let those pass who do not have the key._"

"Where can we find the key?"

"_The master has the key._"

"Where is the master?"

"_Waiting for you._"

Oh… "Where is the master?" he asked again.

There was a long pause this time and Remus feared that he might have made the door unhappy. He lifted his left hand and began stroking the door, reminding it of his presence.

"_Why do you wish to leave? Why don't you stay here and continue speaking with me?_"

"I have friends, people I care for, who need me."

"_My master needs me._"

"We must leave. We mean nothing to your master. Just tell us where he is and we will get the key from him and leave you and your master alone."

"_My master awaits in the core. There you will find the key. Then you may leave._"

"Where is the core?"

"_Behind you…_"

Remus sprang from the door and turned his head so fast he pinched a nerve in his neck.

There was a door. And it hadn't been there before.

And it was completely devoid of magic.

"Hey, where'd that come from?" Harry asked, the shock obvious in the high whinge of his voice.

"That's the way. That is where we have to go."

Draco quirked an eyebrow, his own silent, curious remark. "And how do you know this?" he asked.

Remus shrugged. "The door." His posture and tone suggested it was entirely normal for someone to talk to a door and entice it to reveal its hidden secrets.

With a shake of his head, Draco chuckled. "Fine. I won't ask. Let's just do this thing."

Remus turned back to the exit and ran his hand down it one more time. "Thank you," he said quietly, and then he turned and tried the handle to the core.

It turned. Easily. No shock, no jinx or hex. It was just a door and the three men filed in, worried at how trouble-free it seemed.

This section was a contradiction in austerity. While the other had been a series of featureless tunnels, sickeningly reminiscent of a giant hamster habitat, they now stood in a large bay, with high windows that streamed warm rays of the day on them. Was the light from the outside? From Mexico? How long had they been down there? Even as Remus walked through the door, he knew they had left the magical space of the underground stronghold. This was new, not 'real', not 'outside', but yet another fold of reality entirely separate.

The walls were covered in shiny sheet metal with black rivets holding the large sheets together. The gray floor was concrete, boasting deep gouges and chips as well as long crevices that held what looked like centuries worth of dust. The room was perhaps a hundred yards long and in the center sat a rickety desk with one folding chair and a pile of cardboard boxes surrounding it on the floor.

Sitting in the battered chair was a man.

The table was so far away that Remus couldn't get a good view of him, but he was hoping that this was the infamous Herr Kogelmann. He hoped that he would surrender quietly, they would pack up all of the Dark and evil objects lying about, they would go home, and finally rest. Was that too much to ask?

Harry cleared his throat, a low noise that seemed to rumble from the base of his chest. Remus glanced over at him and saw a shared look between the two younger men. Then Harry looked over his shoulder at Remus, who nodded his own readiness. They stepped forward.

With Harry in the lead, the three men walked towards the man at the core.

Within the high-ceilinged room, their footsteps reverberated off the walls and bounced back, unhindered by any obstacles. Remus looked up and eyed the windows, though filthy they still let in the precious light of day and through those beams of light he watched as dust motes drifted in the still air. Sometimes the motes would sparkle a different colour, a blue or a flash of red. As they finally approached the seated man, he stood and smiled at them, slightly leaning forward with the palms of his hands flat against the metal surface of the table.

Remus examined his face as they drew closer; he noticed it wasn't so much a smile as a leer. He had a distinct feeling of uneasiness at the wicked amusement in the man's eyes. This man was a sadist; Remus knew this to the marrow in his bones.

"Kogelmann?" The name was spat out of Harry's mouth like he'd just taken a drink of something foul and it burned at this tongue like acid. This was the Dark Artefact peddler; this was the man who turned Auror against Auror, who carelessly caused the deaths of people for profit.

The man's grin broadened and he leaned even farther forward, tilting from his hips. He wore a military style jacket with no insignias and plain brass buttons lining the front; all buttoned tight like a living nutcracker. His red pants, loose around his thighs but stuffed into knee high leather boots, only enhanced the effect.

There was tarnish on his brass and a gold tooth that caught the light.

"Why yes, Mr. Potter. And what can I do for you?" He finally stood up straight with a cocksure attitude that annoyed the hell out of Remus. His hand itched to reach out and slap that look off his face. A growl tried to slip past his throat and he swallowed it down.

Kogelmann reached for his pocket and all three men had their wands aimed right for his chest. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Draco said in his most condescending voice. It brought back memories that Remus would rather not revisit, but also made him realise how happy he was to have Draco on his side. "Wiggle the wrong way and I'm afraid we might just see it as a threat. You wouldn't want the clean up crew to have to identify you by the magical stain you will leave on the walls, would you?"

"I am just getting the key. It's what you wanted now, wasn't it?" the man said, his voice far too amused, far too sure.

"Fine, but go slow," Harry said, urging him on with a flick of his wand. "But you do anything, _anything_ at all, and I will toast you." Kogelmann's cocky grin faltered slightly as his eyes darted over to Harry, running him up and down, sizing him up.

Slowly, he reached into the pocket near his right hip and pulled out a yellow ball. He held it out by the tips of his fingers and turned it around so the three men could see a black smiley face printed on the side.

"That's the key?" Harry said, confused.

Kogelmann tilted his head in affirmation and tossed the ball right at Remus; it was instinct that caused him to reach out and grab it. The crooked smile that Kogelmann didn't even try to hide caused Remus to drop the ball immediately. It hit the floor with a 'pong' and harmlessly bounced away. "What the hell was that?" Remus demanded.

"Just checking your reaction speed. That was rather quick, Mr. Werewolf. I'm impressed and utterly sure I could not escape from you if you ever tried to use your wits or performed any strategic planning." God, this man must have been in the equivalent of Slytherin, Remus mused.

"So, that wasn't the key?" Harry said, still staring at the man. Remus was the only one who watched the little ball roll away until it finally came to a halt, smiley face partially visible at the angle it came to rest. With concern, he looked down at his hand as a tingling seemed to smolder along his skin, but when it slowly faded away, he pushed it from his mind.

"Oh, no… that was the key. _A_ key, really," the man said nodding. "There are a few ways to get out of the Labyrinth, and that little ball is just one way that might work for you. Though, it might not." He shrugged casually.

"Fucking bastard, quit playing games with us!" Harry walked forward, _stomped_ forward, and thrust the point of his wand into the man's throat. Remus was delighted to see fear finally fleck those wicked eyes.

And the fear grew as Harry began chanting and a robin's egg blue began to emanate from Harry's wand and fog over the man's body.

"Wha…What?" the man stuttered. "What the hell?!"

Draco took a step to the side and flanked the man and Remus stepped closer to his front. Now he was surrounded and the full realisation of his situation seemed to have finally sunk in.

The tingle came back and Remus shook his hand until it faded, never taking his eyes off of the man; the man who stood there, looking from one of his captors to the next, his eyes darting and searching, a frown on his face. In all intents and purposes he looked worried, nervous, trapped…

But there was something wrong.

There was a soft buzzing that Remus' hearing caught and his whole arm began to tingle. He took a step back, away from the blue fog and his friends to assess what was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, a sense of worry, of unease, settling in his nerves. What was wrong?

"Harry," Remus said in a low voice, his worry colouring the one word. "Harry, something's…"

_BOOM!_

A torrent of Dark magic thrust at Remus and he was slammed back, flying through the air, finally landing hard on the concrete floor, his head snapping back and smacking against the cold ground.

Then another _BOOM!_ and the ground rattled around him as he groaned, his eyes watering against the agony spiking behind his eyes.

_BOOM!_

"Draco!" he heard Harry yell at the top of his lungs. "Remus!" He sounded strong and upright, unlike Remus who could only warble through the blood in his mouth pooling from the bite in his tongue. Blood. The sweet taste of blood.

Then a piercing scream ripped through the booming and rumbling that had the building rocking in its foundation. It was high and full of pain. Remus had no idea where it might be coming from and couldn't focus on it at all through his own dulled senses.

His own dulled senses.

That was it. He couldn't smell a thing. It was all an act!

"BASTARD!!" That was Harry and then he heard a different scream fill the air and the first scream faded out, overwhelmed by the other sounds. Remus had to get up. He had to help.

Remus rolled over to his side and then pushed himself up onto hands and knees, trying to remain steady as the quake continued to send shock waves through the concrete, causing it to strain and buckle underneath him. He lifted his hand to the back of his head and it came away moist and sticky. He sniffed at the red smear and was no longer shocked to discover the smell was dulled; barely noticeable even to his own senses, but that tiny whiff he got with his nose was enough to cause something within him to stir. He steeled his will and forced the unthinkable away.

"No!" he heard Kogelmann scream, followed by, "You will pay!" as Harry cursed scream after scream out of the man.

The undulating ground finally stilled and Remus got unsteadily to his feet, a wave of dizziness caused him to sway and he held his hands away from his body for balance. He looked around; the table and chair was a pile of twisted metal and the remains of cardboard boxes floated through the air like fluff.

He saw Harry standing over Kogelmann and Draco lying off to the side, clutching at his forearm. He took one tentative step, and once his stomach stopped rolling about, took another and after what seemed like an eternity swimming through treacle, he stood next to Harry over the cowering Kogelmann. This time he could smell the fear, the desperation… the shock. Though it was still all muted, stifled as if his nose were packed with cotton.

"You fucking bastard," Harry said, his voice low and edgy, the words pressed through a clenched jaw and a less than stable grip on his self-control. Remus' eyes darted to Harry at his tone. "They're all gone now. How do you like that, you bastard? FUCKER! They are gone! I've destroyed every last artefact in this fucking hellhole. HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT?!" Remus watched as spittle from Harry's fury rained down upon the cowering man's face.

Remus looked around and spotted odd objects lying about. He guessed they must have been stowed in the boxes. There was no sign of the smiling ball. Then he saw Draco on the ground watching Harry, still gripping his arm with a look suggesting the last gram of 'what the fuck' had been pressed right out of him.

"Tell me! Tell me everything. Tell me about who you're working for. Tell me about your operation. I might not SPLATTER you over the floor if you tell me!" Harry twitched his wand and Kogelmann screamed again.

"I can't tell you that," the man yelled, panicked. "I'll tell you where all my merchandise is. I'll hand it all over… just stop!" Harry flicked his wand again and the man fell to the floor, writhing. Remus had seen the Cruciatus Curse cast on people before, but this was not that spell. This was something else, perhaps even more insidious. He looked over at Harry and saw something mad, something crazed in his eyes, his lips lifted in a snarl baring his teeth. Remus automatically felt defensive, felt like he had to prove something to this man.

What was going on? He shook the feeling off and turned to Draco as Harry continued to torture and interrogate the Dark Artefact peddler.

"If I speak, I'm dead. You're all dead. Don't you get it?! _You can't let him have it_!"

"Are you okay?" Remus asked Draco quietly as Harry railed at Kogelmann. Draco looked with over at him with frantic eyes and nodded as Remus squatted down beside him.

"Who? Let _who_ have _what_? SPEAK!"

"Yeah… What's fucking going on? It was like a succession bomb of curses went off and then," Draco looked down at his arm, "my Mark… where my Mark was… i-it burned. Like it'd never burned before." He looked terribly sad. "And then Harry, something's wrong with him. Something is wrong with Harry." Draco looked up at Remus like he hoped the man had some answer and some way to fix the world's inherent woes.

"You _can not_ let that mad man have the Staff of Quetzalcoatl. You're all idiots and I won't die with you!"

That got both Draco and Remus' attention.

"What do you know about that," Harry demanded. He gripped Kogelmann's jacket and shook him. Remus watched as the man's head flailed about with sickening fragility. "Tell us what the fuck you know!"

Harry's eyes had that eerie glow to them and his hair began to pick up in the maelstrom of magic that had begun twisting about. Kogelmann's fear seeped out of every one of the man's pores and some inner feral desire perked up within Remus, showing definite interest. It was Moony. This whole time, Moony had been awakening within him. Shite. Remus had always been able to clamp down on the wolf, forcing him into the dark cage until the full moon when the iron bars fell with a clatter; but this time his cursed alter identity wasn't slinking away.

Remus pushed away from Draco, standing briefly only to land on his tail end, and scooted away across the cracked floor. What was happening to him? Moony's time was not now! It wasn't the full moon. Draco stared at Remus, concern evident in his features, but he glanced back at Harry as the magic built, gaining power and intensity each passing second.

_Down, be calm, this isn't happening, you're just freaking out because you've been cooped up for so long._ He felt a soft prickling across his skin and he saw the hair thicken and grow. _What the fuck?_

"Guys," he said, his voice shaking and deep. The growl could not be hidden. "Help, please." Panic and fear and _hunger_ raced along his nerves, through his veins.

"Oh fuck! Remus, what's happening?" Draco turned his attention from Harry, shuffling along his knees to the man forced into an unwanted transformation.

Kogelmann began to cackle.

And then the lightening began to strike.

* * *

All he knew was that he was pissed. The man, this fucked up Dark wizard, had cursed people and killed people and ruined lives. He'd led Ron on a wild goose chase and made fools of the Aurors. He'd housed the shaft of the Quetzalcoatl Staff in a room full of the most intimate reminders of death and now the man wouldn't tell him everything he knew. 

In every Auror, there lies a Dark portion. In some it was just a tiny nugget, in others it threatened to consume their entire soul. It was impossible to remain entirely of the Light when you have to constantly dance with the Dark. That Dark within Harry suddenly coagulated and formed into a tight mass, growing and pulsing and swaying the young man to hurt and maim, to pull the answer out no matter what the consequences. This he would do. He would do this for his friends, for the innocents, for himself.

He would do this because he could.

And then chain lightning began to dance in the multicoloured cloud of magic that had built up above the scene of destruction.

And it struck. First it hit the metal chair, leaving a charred hunk of chrome and steel, then the desk was the next casualty, all melted and twisted from the terrible heat. The look of fear in this fool's eyes tasted sweet and Harry drank it up.

"Tell me," he said through tightly gripped teeth. "Tell me everything." And another bolt struck the ground right next to the man's head, who screamed, clutching into a tight ball as a stain of wetness seeped through the crotch of his pants.

This was power. The power he'd denied himself.

"Harry!"

"Tell me!" Harry looked at the broken man and grabbed what little will that remained and crumbled it in a grip of his own. "I OWN YOU, YOU FUCKING MAGGOT! SPEAK!" And the lighting continued to crash down.

"Fucking shite, Harry! Stop it!"

"Riley!" Kogelmann whimpered. "Ted Riley had me searching for it. For the staff. I found it. I couldn't give it to him because he was… Stop it! Please!" Harry watched as the man twitched. He knew he could just force the man to speak, erode the man's psyche as the staff had done to him, but this was so much more fun. He grinned.

He forced his magic into every barrier and wall within the man's mind and tore them town, thrashing about in the process. The psychic debris began to bury them both.

"Who is Riley working for?" Harry burrowed deeper, heedless of the Swiss cheese effect his fury left behind.

"You don't know?! Fucking get out of my mind! Get out!!" The man screamed again and then Harry was physically knocked over, his body slamming into the ground with the force of a crash of rhinos.

His anger flared and all he saw was red, red tinted sunlight, red tinted steel, a red tinted blond man looking down at him with worry. And then the red poofed away as the blond man kissed him frantically.

"Harry. Stop. Please, stop. Harry…"

"Draco? Draco!" Harry grasped onto Draco, onto his lifeline, onto sanity, constantly saying that name over and over like a chant of stability he so desperately needed.

"Oh Merlin. Oh Fuck. This is so fucked. Harry… Remus, he…" and then a howl split the air.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

_"Adversity, we get around it;  
searched for joy, in you I found it."  
Relient K – Pressing On_

He was losing himself. He could feel it even as he struggled against the wolf within.

Thick, gray hair pushed through the skin on his arms and his mind kept turning to the hunt and the kill. His fingers curled as they tried to shrink into paws, the nails growing thick like claws. Every bone in his body groaned in protest as they began to break down and reform, sculpting his form into that of canine.

Or at least trying to.

He would not give in. Stubbornly, Remus held onto his shape, only partially transforming into that of Moony.

"But you are not separate."

"Wha…?" Remus meant to ask, only it came out as a whine, a kind of whimpering question. Then he realised two things: that the words he heard were in his mind like they'd been in that _other_ place and that he wasn't really Remus anymore.

Alarmed, Remus tried again, "Is that you?" but all that he vocalized was a wolfish growl. He looked down at his hands again, a mix between fingers and paws, caught in the middle of wolf and human. What was happening to him?

_Be calm, Remus,_Remus tried to convince himself._ This is still you. You are still Remus John Lupin. You work at Blumgeower_ _Books. Yes, you are a werewolf, but that is not _who_ you are. That is not WHO you are! _Remus frantically looked around and saw Draco and Harry looking over at him, a disturbing blend of horror and alarm on their faces.

"Harry?" he asked, but a soft bark was all that his vocal cords could produce. His eyeteeth throbbed.

Without words, Harry reached out for Remus, and then dropped his hand limply to his side. The silence echoed with questions too terrible to be asked. Remus dropped his eyes again to his hands and found he couldn't say anything; the sight of his misshapen fingers, long claws, and gnarled knuckles had knocked his breath away. Not human. His hands were not human.

Then his anguish boiled up from his anger and fear and hopelessness and erupted in a howl of frustration. "I'm cursed!" His cry echoed off the high walls of the core. "Why is everything about me cursed? Why can't anything ever be right?"

"You struggle. Your life is always a struggle."

Remus darted his eyes around, snapping his head from left to right to see where those words were coming from, searching for the statical form of Sirius.

"Where are you?" he growled, unsure if he was really hearing Sirius or if it was some insane trick of his mind, that he was going crazy as some werewolves eventually did.

"I am here." The words resounded in his head, but he continued to look around anyway, and eventually he saw it, a soft shadow, an outline really, of Sirius standing next to the far wall.

"Help me," Remus said desperately, strangely unsurprised that Sirius could understand his growls and woofs.

"Stop struggling. Accept who you are, what you are." The figure stepped forward from the shadow near the wall. It faded as it entered the light from the window high overhead. It continued to come forward, gaining more substance and definition as the light was left behind for more shadow. "It is the only way. You treat Moony like a cancer. You are Moony. Moony is you. The two shall never be separate. Accept." The figure tossed its head, flipping long hair out of its eyes.

"No!" Remus howled. "I am not a monster!" He felt his teeth elongate and his snout lengthen; he cried out in pain. "Help me!"

"Listen Remus." The figure of Sirius Black stood next to him and a formless cloud billowed up around the two. "Think." The cloud built up and when it finally obscured everything around them, it started to fade away as Remus panted short, hot breaths. With time it dissipated like smoke and Remus saw that he was once again in that strange plane in between worlds. The place with no name.

He stood on an open expanse dotted with trees bare from winter, or blight, or maybe it was just that nothing _lived_ here, he wasn't sure. But the difference, the existence of something new, something standing out from the landscape gave him a sense of promise.

And he looked down at his hands once more and saw that they were hands…and then paws… as if the two were on separate realities overlying each other, that they took up the same space at the same time.

Remus found relief in the wastelands, where bare trees were propagating out of the dead earth and his memories of a long gone past blended with the temptation of unrealised desires. He immersed himself into the realm where he could forget about curses and lost chances and look towards a promise of spring rain falling upon the cold land, covering the world in forgetful petals fallen from fresh blooms, where everything remained tranquil in nothingness.

"Stop." Remus looked over and saw Sirius standing there, his image flipping between the man and the dog. "You cannot hide, Moony."

The man walked forward, his arms out, reaching for Remus. Remus gripped those arms and he was struck with a sense of déjà vu. It all felt so familiar. But he wondered how something so alien could be identifiable, this stark feeling of panic… something he knew so intimately. Sirius gripped tighter and then Remus became aware that it wasn't this stark landscape or the ever-present panic, it was Sirius, his steadfast support and brilliant invention, the gentle way he guarded those he cared for. Remus remembered it all, in a surprisingly crisp sense of recollection.

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Accept."

Remus huffed. "You said that, Sirius. How do I do that?"

Sirius smiled. It was a smile of reassurance and loyalty. It was that same smile that led the Marauders into hell and back without a single singe. Well, perhaps that wasn't quite correct, but Remus was willing to overlook the hard lessons that all teenagers must weather to be the adults they grow into.

"Stop fighting."

"Stop…?" but Remus' automatic rebuff was cut off by Sirius' soft lips. He'd been tugged forward and kissed gently, Sirius' hands resting lightly on Remus' hips. It was protective and encompassing in its lightness, like Sirius didn't have to demand or force Remus' acceptance. As if he just knew this was where he belonged and Remus would never question any of it. And Remus understood that he couldn't agree more.

Then Sirius pulled back, leaving him breathless in wonder.

He placed one finger over Remus' lips and shushed his next protestation. "Just listen, Remus. You always were one to argue with me." He cracked his cocky smile, so reminiscent of an easier time.

Remus nodded dumbly, sharply aware that he couldn't have said anything through the beating of his heart.

"Just feel Moony. Feel yourself. And _know_ they are the same."

Sirius stepped away from Remus and he felt immediately chilled. The bare trees stood about them and he longed for that spring rain, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Sirius, who had just held him firmly, kissed him with a lover's caress, was fading again, flickering in and out.

"Don't leave me," Remus said in a panic.

"Time is short," was all he said, yet his form gained more substance as he spoke the words. He nodded at Remus, urging him to do something… something Remus wasn't quite sure about. So he did just what Sirius suggested; he let Moony free and stopped fighting for the first time in decades.

In this odd land of gray, Remus found freedom.

At first, Remus panicked as Moony lunged forward, breaking free from the self-induced chains. Remus swallowed hard and without struggle, gave himself over to the wolf. He howled, long and edgy and slightly manic and then burst off to race the devil, his tail held high like a young colt's on its first canter. He felt renewed and he knew that nothing could hold him back; he could have the world on a gold platter if he so chose.

Eventually, he returned to Sirius, who stood laughing with glee, his mouth open, white teeth showing in his delight. Remus (Moony) rolled at his feet in unfettered delight, and then he stood as Remus (but wasn't he still Moony?) and gripped Sirius in a bear hug.

"You see?" Sirius asked.

Remus nodded. He did see and with this new unveiled view, the colours seemed sharper and the scents were fragrant like newly opened blossoms.

Remus flowed fluidly from Moony to himself, and each time the transformation was made, it came easier, more naturally, like he'd picked up the old bicycle he'd spent each summer riding and was relearning how to switch the gears. Sirius watched, nodding the entire time, his dark hair falling around his ears and into his eyes, which were bright and crinkling at the corners. Remus continued to look upon his dearest friend, only a shimmer of his old self, but he was still beautiful and undeniable and God how Remus felt like weeping at all he had lost, yet still cheer for all he had gained.

Luckily, he knew everything wasn't lost and reality had Sirius standing right there.

"You are ready, we must return."

Remus nodded. Then he wondered something.

"Where is the staff?" he asked Sirius.

A knowing smirk took over the man's face and Sirius chuckled. "Safe, for now."

Remus accepted that, because how could he not trust the man who released him from that prison?

* * *

"What did you do to Remus? Merlin help you if it can't be reversed. I don't care what the Ministry would do to me… you will wish your ancestors had died an early death." Harry gripped the front of the man's robes and shook him violently. He knew that he was going too far, but something within him raged and that rage was wonderful, soaring. 

"What the hell? Harry!" Harry looked over at the door to the core and there stood Ron, panting heavily with Plincher by his side, who looked on in wonder, mixed with something that fought to either be relief or horror.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ron screamed again and Harry finally dropped the flopping body of Kogelmann.

He noticed that Draco was on the floor next to his feet with Remus not far away, also on the floor, his half transformed body twitching. He looked back down to Kogelmann and cursed under his breath. Dropping to a squat, he felt for a pulse at the man's jugular. Relief flooded Harry to find he hadn't killed him.

"What is going on?" Ron asked as he jogged up to the four men. "We heard an explosion and… Is that Remus?" he asked.

Harry shook his head, not to negate Ron's question but to clear away the glue muddling his concentration. He'd found out from Kogelmann's mind that something was affecting them, but he couldn't quite remember. His brain was clouded by rage and fury, his body wanted to strike out and _hurt_.

He'd also discovered something else important. Something he had to remember. He had to tell Ron, if only he could just focus.

"Harry?"

Harry looked back up at Ron, his ginger hair wild and covered in a layer of dust. Plincher's face was smeared with dirt and one of his deep brown eyes had swollen closed.

"Who hit you?" Harry asked, finding comfort in this non-sequitur. He wondered if he looked as bad.

"Harry, what's happened to Remus and…?" Ron trailed off, but Harry could hear the unspoken words. And you.

"I don't know," Harry said finally, still struggling with himself. "There's something—" he stopped and stared up towards the ceiling. He could see the colourful sparkles reflecting the light from the windows, dazzling one moment and vanishing the next as clouds blocked out the sun. "Something in the air."

Ron studied the air; his eyes squinted as he sought something just out of eyesight. Then with a sharp snap of his wand he blew out a window. The shattered glass, mixed with the motes of reds and blues, crashed down and with another flick of his wand, a gust of wind burst out, clearing the air above.

The rainbow of lights were blown away and Harry's mind slowly cleared with it.

His eyes searched the open window--watching as dark clouds began rolling by, beginning to block out the sun--his head turned away from his friends and allies. Holding his body stiff, he let his eyes return to Ron and he saw a curious look, but no more horror and no disdain.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, somewhat ashamed, definitely frightened, at the beast he'd been warring with inside his heart as surely as Remus now battled on his own playing field.

"Okay," Ron said exasperatedly, "will you tell me what's going on?"

Harry remained silent as Draco struggled to his feet, still clutching his Mark. Hearing a soft snort, he looked over to Remus and saw the man stand, no aspect of wolf left.

"It was a powder. Kogelmann had released it in the air before we came in. It was specially designed to fog our minds." Harry stopped, musing over this. "Then he did other things… there was a ball and a spell and…" Harry stopped speaking. It had affected Draco's Dark Mark and Remus' lycanthropy, but in Harry it had only found the Dark inside of him and enhanced its drive. Darkness he knew was there, but it'd never exerted that kind of force before.

Harry didn't know how he felt about that. He once blindly ignored that darkness within him, the urge to punish, the thrill in knowing he was one of the most powerful wizards alive. Then as his Auror career came to a close, he realised it had started to become an issue. It was one of the reasons he hadn't so much regretted leaving. It was a shallow recompense. Standing there in the core with his friends and fallen foe, a soft breeze blew through the room and all he was certain of was that power was addictive and the only thing that had stopped him from completely giving in to it was Draco.

"How you feeling now?" Ron asked as he went to Remus to check him over.

"Fine, I guess," Harry said softly, his attention on Draco.

"Yeah, the Mark's stopped burning," Draco added. He rolled up his sleeve and gently touched the swollen Mark, dark and angry looking.

"What is this place?" Plincher asked. They all jumped as thunder rang high above them. Small drops of rain began tinking off the metal roof.

Remus shuffled forward, leaning on Ron. "The core of the Labyrinth," he said. "Harry, check him over would you," Remus said, gesturing towards Kogelmann's prone body, "He should have a key on him, and I really don't think it was that stupid ball." Remus sounded surly, shaking his hand sharply, and Harry really couldn't blame him.

Rifling through Kogelmann's pockets, Harry found a vial full of a fine powder, a wand, a couple of rings, and around the man's neck on a bit of twine was a large brass key. He tossed the vial at Ron, who snatched it from the air but still gave Harry a dirty look.

"Don't throw potentially dangerous substances about, damn it," Ron scolded. "Didn't you learn _anything_ in Potions?" he finished with a chuckle.

Standing over the prone form of Kogelmann, Harry looked back at Draco. His friend moved slowly towards Remus through the mounds and piles of destroyed artefacts. They stood close together speaking and Harry looked on. They were so close, just a few steps towards the door, but they seemed miles away. Everyone seemed so far away and he looked back up to the sky and watched as the rain fell down.

"Potter?" Plincher asked, stepping in front of him. "What happened here?" The Auror glanced around at the piles of debris and then the body of Kogelmann. He returned his gaze to Harry, obviously expecting some detailed report on how the room had met its end.

"Justice."

* * *

**Auror Incident Report #273. Dark Artefact Peddler; Merida, Mexico.**

Lead Agent – Auror Ronald Weasley  
Supporting Agents – Auror Victor Burns, Auror Jordan Braithwaite, Auror Karen Meyers, Auror Bartholomew Plincher  
Supporting Free Agents – Mr. Harry Potter, Mr. Draco Malfoy, Mr. Remus Lupin

Page 3:

After the Agents had become separated, Plincher and Weasley searched a lower layer of the Labyrinth (other Agent reports attached: see Appendices F, G, H, I). They discovered some storage facilities containing many items of a Dark or cursed nature (see Appendix J for categorised list). Three other men working for Kogelmann were confronted and subdued.

As Plincher and Weasley continued to search for an exit, they heard a large explosion. The Agents followed in the most direct route they could find through the passageways (see Appendix A for facility map).

There they found Potter, Lupin and Malfoy with Kogelmann in custody. A large explosion caused by the duel between Potter and Kogelmann set off a chain reaction, destroying all of the merchandise in the room.

Within Kogelmann's possession was the key to the exit, where Agents Burns, Braithwaite and Meyers were found in a containment cell unharmed.

This concludes Agent Weasley's account of the incident at Calle 63 No. 550, Merida, Mexico, aka The Labyrinth.

* * *

They had been trapped in Kogelmann's stronghold for almost twenty-four hours. The team returned late that evening, shocked and tired from a seemingly endless night. Their first priority was to lock Kogelmann away in a small holding cell—keyed only to Ron's wand—and then all of them visited a local medical facility to mend their minor injuries and get a thorough curse detection diagnostics performed. They discovered that Underhill and Abbot had contacted the British Headquarters after a drove of Aurors descended upon them, asking questions and demanding answers. 

The agents Kingsley had sent contained the last of the underground wizard compound. Kogelmann was carted away, silent yet glaring daggers at Ron and the others. Harry, Draco and Remus made their excuses after answering the agents' questions and returned to London together.

If anyone compared the reports of the three men, as quite a number of people were charged to do, they would see that each and every fact checked out.

However, as the men gathered after their return to London, none of them could remember everything that happened and some of them kept certain secrets to themselves.

They'd arrived at the Apparition point Draco had set up in Rain. There were three 'cracks' but four individuals appeared. Both Draco and Harry were shocked to see the figure of Sirius appear noiselessly behind Remus.

"Sirius!" Harry cried out. The shadow shimmered a bit, and Draco was certain the damned thing—man—was amused. "You're not dead?"

"Technically," Remus said, facing Draco and Harry, "he isn't dead, but he isn't alive. Or at least, that's what he says." Remus jabbed his thumb over his shoulder indicating Sirius standing behind him. "Plus, he said he has a hold on the staff right now."

Confusion painted itself across Harry's face. "What are you talking about? How would you know?"

"Well, we can speak, kind of. He sends me information," Remus said as his cheeks pinked.

"Well," Draco drawled, "does he know how to destroy it?" He figured that would be too simple, but certainly worth a shot.

Remus looked over his shoulder at Sirius and after a few moments he returned his attention to the other two men. "No. But he says something will come up." Remus grinned in boyish delight. "I can only imagine what he's got up his sleeves."

The change in Remus caught Draco off guard. Just a few hours ago he was writhing on the floor, half man, half wolf, entirely lost to his fear. Now he grinned and seemed to have gained some ease that Draco'd never seen in him before.

"Let's move to my office where things are a little less… open," Draco suggested and the group walked through the abandoned halls of Rain in the young hours of the morning. Once they arrived, each took a seat, except for Sirius, who seemed generally content to stand and look about.

"Guys listen," Harry said, suddenly serious, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I got some stuff out of Kogelmann's head when I… dug around in there." Draco noticed that Harry's eyes never met any of theirs, in fact he stared at the blinds and the desk and examined the dirt under his own fingernails with rapt attention.

"Harry…" Remus began, reaching out to him, but Harry cut him off.

"Riley was there working with Kogelmann. Protecting him as he searched for something. Underhill was passing intel off to Riley and Kogelmann. Guess what he was supposed to be searching for. You get three guesses, first two don't count."

"Ted Riley? So, we were right," said Remus, baring his teeth in a sneer.

"Yup, but you didn't guess," said Harry with a grunt.

"The wooden shaft of the Quetzalcoatl Staff." Draco enjoyed pointing out the obvious when everyone else seemed to want to avoid such truths. But something still bothered him. He picked up a pen from his collection and began juggling it over his fingers. "But he'd found it, or are you saying that he didn't know what was hidden in the cathedral of bones?"

"No, he knew exactly what was in every nook and cranny of that maze." Harry shook his head and then ran his fingers through his hair, stirring up some dust. Something was eating him inside. Draco wanted to wrap his arms around him and take the pain away. "He knew exactly what the shaft was and he knew that Riley couldn't have it. He'd been keeping it there, hidden _from_ Riley."

Silence settled on the men. Draco glanced at Harry and Remus and saw them both pensive. Sirius' shadowy form just stood there quietly, easily forgotten in his silence.

"Well…?" Draco drawled, knowing there was more to come.

"Who do you think Riley was working for?" Harry asked in a tone that suggested they were all brain damaged two-year olds for not coming to a certain conclusion by now.

"Not himself?" Remus asked surprised, his evident hatred of the man giving Riley more credit that he was worth.

"Oh come on, Remus. Someone is putting together the Staff of Quetzalcoatl to drain the magic from every wizard in Britain. Who do we know with a bit more ambition than petty revenge on werewolves or a desire to be Head Auror?"

Draco stared at Remus who stared back at him.

"Scrimgeour." Harry's word was almost a whisper. "Riley is working for Minister Scrimgeour and he has the orb and he wants to put the entire thing together because he thinks he can rule the world with it. I mean, think about all that he's done, or at least we can conclude he's done it. He's already controlling Kingsley so the Aurors are all under his direct control. He's messed with St. Mungo's so they're no longer looking for anyone with odd magical fluctuations. There's something going on at the Ministry. Who knows how far this reaches? Kogelmann didn't want to give Riley the staff because even that crazy fuck recognized an even crazier fuck and understood just how much damage Scrimgeour could do if he wanted to."

Draco stood from his chair and began pacing behind his desk. "So what now?" he asked.

Remus cleared his throat and offered Harry and Draco an apologetic shrug. "Sleep? I gotta get some rest or I'm worthless to you two. I know we all went through shite in that maze and I, for one, need some recuperation. So, Harry, I'm going back to Hermione's and…"

"Hermione! Oh Merlin, I totally forgot about her." Harry cringed in guilt. "Remus, you go back. I'm going to stop in to check on her for a bit and then I'll be home, okay?"

Remus nodded and Disapparated to get some sleep.

"Do you mind if I come?" Draco asked, not quite ready to be rid of Harry Potter just yet.

For the first time since the face-off in the core, Harry smiled. "Draco, I would appreciate that." He looked exhausted and drained and Draco knew he was being eaten by guilt as well. The two men Apparated to St. Mungo's to visit their comatose friend.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21  
**_"Now I know it's true  
My every road leads to you"  
Bryan Adams – I will Always Return_

They arrived to a relatively quiet afternoon at the wizarding hospital. Harry felt a faint tingle like that which he'd discovered in the Ministry, suggesting this institution was also compromised, infiltrated with some unknown spell. Inwardly, he wasn't surprised and he refused to let it bother him. He was here to visit Hermione and there wasn't anything he could do about it now anyway.

Healers in bright green robes walked up and down the hallways, nodding or smiling at them. He didn't see Periwinkle, though it was still early and her shifts were usually later in the evening. They entered number 421 and saw Hermione lying there in the white sepulchre of her room.

Her face was smooth and her breath came at a constant pace. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Out. Harry stood by her bedside and watched the rise and fall of her chest, the only sign of life. The lack of sun had washed out the pink from her skin, leaving behind a parchment thin layer so delicate Harry was certain a gentle breeze could blow it away during its own leisurely passing.

Tenderly, he reached out and took her hand in his own. He was aware of Draco standing in the doorway, but the other man was quiet. Reaching out with his _feelers_, Harry searched for something within her, that piece of Hermione he'd felt before. He recognized that same magical shield he'd sensed previously and brushed up against it. He could feel her, just beyond… out of reach.

He huffed in frustration. "She's there. I can tell, but… I can't do anything about it," he said quietly as he traced the blue veins in her hands over and over as if trying to coax the life within them to let him past the barrier blocking his way.

A soft step behind him gave alert that Draco had finally entered the room. He felt a touch on his shoulder and he turned his head to glance at the man. Draco's expression was soft and caring and Harry felt torn between sorrow for Hermione and tenderness for Draco.

"Can I help?" he offered.

Harry pondered this, not just as some empty platitude, but really wondered if there was anything Draco could do.

"Maybe… care to lend me some of your precision again?" Harry asked, wondering if his idea would really work.

Draco nodded with a grin, grabbed Harry's free hand and interwove their fingers together. Harry smiled at the two hands; they looked so right together. When he returned his gaze to Draco's face, he saw the man's eyes were closed and he felt that same presence nudging him inside, as if someone was petting his heart. He turned back to Hermione and tried again, searching for any chink in the wall he could find.

His _feelers_ had always been nimble, or so he had thought, but with Draco's added dexterity Harry felt like his magical sense had been exponentially improved. He touched every ridge, every crease, every pit and pock of the magical wall. He hadn't realised how imperfect physical magic could be and he thought back to a Muggle paper he'd once read saying that if a golf ball was the size of the Earth, its craters and mountains would be far more pronounced than those of the actual planet. Right now Harry felt like this shield was as rough as the bottom of the ocean, full of craters and peaks never before seen.

With this new found sensitivity, he located a way in, past the guardian of her mind and into an entirely different place.

"Hermione?" he thought out loud.

"Harry?" came the shocked reply.

"Hermione! Oh Merlin! You…"

Immediately, Harry felt smothered, like he was drowning, and he struggled to keep afloat even as he looked down at her prone body lying motionless on the bed.

"Draco!" he screamed out in his mind.

"I'm here," he heard, as if Draco were standing in his brain, calmly telling him about the weather. "Calm down, would you. It's noisy in here."

Leave it to Draco to sound snide while telepathically speaking in Harry's own mind.

Fortunately, it was distracting enough that Harry forgot his momentary fright and through his own calm, he felt that pressure lift some even as he heard Hermione mumbling incoherently, flashes of sound blending together into a cacophony of noise.

"Hermione, focus." Harry forced his words out, thinking them loudly, firmly, but without blowing them all away with the power of it.

"Harry? Where are you? Where am I?" As her mental flailing decreased, the pressure on Harry's chest dissipated.

"You are in St. Mungo's," Draco thought and Harry looked over at the man standing behind him, whose eyes were still closed and whose hand still held Harry's firmly.

"Who is that?" Hermione asked, frantic and desperate and Merlin how Harry wanted to hold her tight and tell her it was all going to be okay.

"Draco's here. We are in your room at St. Mungo's and we are here with you, Hermione," Harry said, trying to coat his words with peace, support and calming love.

There was a pause and Harry worried that they'd been pushed out, past that shield within Hermione's mind again and had lost the tenuous connection they had with her. Then she thought at them again and Harry relaxed at the controlled way she delivered her next words.

"Something happened. There was a spell that someone cast at me, so I lifted a modified _Protego_ I'd been working on and I've been stuck ever since. I can sometimes feel magic around me, but I've been so alone. But something… buzzing… I can sometimes hear a buzz or… purring? I was going to meet with _Malfoy_ when it happened." She stressed Draco's name, her words tinged with a question as if asking why Harry called their childhood nemesis by his given name, even if he was on their side in the war.

"Yes, we know. We're working on trying to cure you: Draco, Remus and me. Ron is doing his part, too. You're not the only person affected by the curse. However, with your shield spell up, you've been impacted differently by it."

"Oh, Harry! The curse! I have notes that…"

"Granger, we know all about your notes. We have reviewed them and know who's been cursing people and how. The problem is reversing the curse and stopping the artefact that is being used. And of course, getting you back," Draco added.

"We have so much to tell you, Hermione. Why don't we start from the beginning and then you can ask questions, okay?"

Hermione was quiet again and Harry wondered if she was still there or if she'd fallen asleep or wandered off or was just ignoring them, though he thought all of those options rather implausible. So he waited and finally she agreed to hear what they had to say. She was dually impressed they cracked her code, though Harry noticed she didn't point out that Draco already knew about it. The two men filled her in on the Quetzalcoatl Staff and what Popicon had told them. She was regaled with their exploits in Mexico, Sirius' return, and finally told what they found out from Kogelmann.

"Scrimgeour wants the Staff to control wizardkind. We're certain he has the orb portion of the Staff. Sirius has the wooden shaft of the Staff under control… somehow. There is still the feather. For all we know Scimgoeur has it, though I doubt it or he would have done something more overt."

"What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"Stop him," Harry said simply.

"How?" she asked.

"I'm not sure yet. But we will and we'll get you out of here and you and Ron can take a long vacation far, far away and have lots of sex and get married and live happily ever after."

He heard a soft chuckle echo through his head. "Sounds nice," she said. "I can't wait." Then a pause, and, "Well, I can wait because that's my only option."

"We'll come back, Hermione. Crookshanks is here and he's been keeping you company. And we'll come back and talk to you every day, okay?"

"Crookshanks?" Hermione said in wonder. "Oh, that must have been the purring! What a good kitty. Please, Harry. Please come back. Shut Scrimgeour down and get me the hell out of here," she said in such a firm tone that Harry dreaded her wrath if he should fail. Of course, he wouldn't.

They said their goodbyes and the two men retreated back to their own minds once again. Harry was shocked to see how many hours had passed and how drained, emotionally and physically, he felt. Crookshanks had jumped up on the bed during their conversation and was energetically kneading Hermione's leg.

"Good boy, 'shanks. Keep her company, would you."

The cat purred even louder.

"Well, I guess I should go home," Harry said reluctantly. He was exhausted, but didn't want to say goodbye to Draco after his difficult goodbye with Hermione. They'd gone through so much together in just a few short days; he didn't want to be alone.

"Harry," Draco said, his gray eyes sharp. "Would you like to stay at Rain with me tonight?"

Harry took in a sharp breath. Draco stood stiffly before him, his shoulders straight and head held high.

"Yes," he said through his suddenly dry throat.

Like a magical potion had been poured over him, Draco relaxed in a wave, first his eyes, then his shoulders and finally he smiled warmly at Harry. He held out his arm for Harry and together they Apparated away.

Harry had never been in Draco's personal rooms above Rain before, but they were as expensively and classically decorated as Harry had expected. Everything had rich colours and was constructed from dark woods or gothic iron, so different from the club below dressed in its neon blues and bright lights.

Harry felt out of his element, like he'd fallen overboard and was barely treading water. He followed Draco through his flat, watched as the man hung up his cloak, checked his messages, flipped through some letters.

"Tea?" he asked and Harry nodded dumbly.

Efficiently, Draco made them tea with a few wand flicks and some more of those odd kitchen utensils Harry'd only seen at the Weasley's. He sat on a high stool next to a central bar in the only modern room of Draco's home, complete with stainless steel and crockery hanging from the ceiling like a flock of bats. Draco sat next to him and the two sipped their tea in silence.

Harry didn't want this to be weird. He didn't want them to regret what they were about to do. He mulled it over and questioned if he wanted to go this next step with Draco. It didn't take him long to admit he did. He cherished this man and wanted to be with him and get to know him and, perhaps, even spend the rest of his days with him. He went pleasantly warm at the thought.

A future with Draco.

He began feeling awfully silly just sitting here drinking tea when a very hot bloke was sitting beside him who'd practically offered himself to Harry on a gilded platter complete with garnish.

With newly found confidence, he put down his tea and shifted his body to face Draco. Draco turned to face Harry in turn.

Harry reached out and brushed Draco's hair, barely ghosting his fingers over the fine strands, causing them to glide under his skin. Then he drew his fingers down the side of Draco's face, and Draco leaned into the touch, his eyes half-closed with a smile on his lips like a contented feline. With gentle anticipation, Harry leaned forward and kissed him.

It began as a tender dance of lips, a gentle gliding of tongues against each other, sensually hiding promises and desires. Harry snaked his arms around Draco's waist and drew him closer, wrapped him up in his grip like a precious gift. The lights within the room flickered as lust zapped along Harry's nerve endings and then burned bright as Draco bit at his bottom lip.

Harry wasn't a prude, he had his share of lovers, but he'd never been kissed with such unbridled passion and it intoxicated his mind and soul and his magic unleashed itself in delight. A crackle filled the air and Harry wasn't sure if the hairs rising on the back of arms and neck were a sign of the saturated air or just a side effect of the way Draco kindled the fire within him with just a few simple touches.

Draco pulled away, his lips glistening, his breathing uneven as he looked at Harry. Harry's own breath hitched at the sheer emotion he saw, something inconceivable. This was Draco, powerful and beautiful and _his_. Encased within every fiber of this man was a promise of something more, something waiting in the future, something both could live for.

He leaned forward, unable to stare into that well of emotion any longer and nibbled along Draco's shoulder, where collarbone met neck, and Draco moaned and arched into him, pressing his firm erection into Harry's own.

The lights blew out in a sparkly shower and Draco chuckled even as he pressed his lips against Harry's chin.

"What?" Harry asked, slightly embarrassed as his own lack of magical control.

"You," Draco said, his voice needy and breathless. "Come on." He grabbed Harry's wrist, pressing along the vein as if timing the racing beat of his heart, and pulled him through the halls of his flat into a bedroom dominated by a four poster bed draped in greens and blacks.

Roughly, Draco pulled Harry towards him and gripped him tight, body flush against body. He eagerly dove at Harry, kissing and nibbling, trailing his tongue along each curve and angle of his face and neck, ending with a quick peck to his crossed scars. Harry didn't realise that he'd already agreed to that promise and future as Draco led him to the edge of the bed and lifted Harry's shirt up and over, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor. He didn't realise that he'd left behind all other possibilities, closed himself away in his world of Draco, complete and utterly content.

"Merlin, you're beautiful," Draco murmured.

"You're mad," Harry said, mainly to say something, anything, as he tried to right the world that had quickly begun to spin frantically off course.

Draco stared at him, eyes wide and on _fire_. Harry watched as he ran his hands up his own body, gliding up his sides, over his chest to the top button of his shirt. With agonizing slowness Draco flicked open the top button. Harry's mouth went dry at the flesh peaking from behind the fabric.

Draco's fingers played around the soft fabric of his shirt, unbuttoning each button with grace and casual teasing. A smirk flitted across his lips as Harry fought a losing battle to let Draco continue his dance without interference. Struggling in a pool of frustration, Harry stepped forward, tossing one hand casually in the air, and completely disrobed Draco.

With none of the shy concern the man had shown during their time in Mexico, Draco now stood proud and welcoming as Harry practically lunged for him, the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

He took great pleasure in studying every inch of Draco, running his lips along his arms and legs, kissing his knees, lapping at nipples, licking up his inner thighs and finally resting his eyes on the man's beautiful cock. Harry's mouth watered in anticipation but as he leaned forward, Draco halted his advance.

"Harry. Naked. Now." Draco spoke each word laced with want.

Harry jumped to his feet and threw off his clothes, wanting nothing more than to press up to Draco, skin on skin, with nothing to keep them apart.

Smooth, long fingers slid across Harry's chest, brushing up against his nipples, pinching at the sensitive skin, eliciting a feral groan from Harry's throat. "Merlin, Harry," Draco gasped. "There can never be anything as beautiful as you."

Draco pulled Harry to the bed and they flopped down upon the soft duvet and kissed and made promises through hot moans and cries into the night.

* * *

"Harry, I was worried when you didn't return last night," Remus said, his gaze shifting from Harry to Draco with a knowing smirk. "But I guess you were just fine, weren't you."

They'd just arrived via Floo late that morning. Harry felt slightly abashed at not contacting Remus, but they were all adults and he decided he couldn't be arsed to care too much after the night he and Draco'd just had. He'd never been with a more passionate, loving partner, every inch of his skin an erogenous zone with a cock that could pull pleasures from Harry again and again. He wasn't sure if his equipment would be up to such play for a few days after last night, but then one look at Draco and he knew his equipment would be good and ready with but a simple glance from the man.

"Uh, yeah," Harry said as he rubbed at the back of his neck, annoyed with himself at the heat of his face. Draco merely smirked with pride.

"I was about to come looking for you, luckily you showed up," said Remus as he began fixing up breakfast. "There's a letter for you. From Popicon." Remus fanned the letter in the air over his head.

"What! Why didn't you say so?" Harry grabbed the letter from Remus and ripped it open. The other two men leaned over his shoulders and read along with him.

_Dear Mr. Potter_

_I am pleased to inform you that the Yukon coven I had spoke with you about has agreed to speak with you about the Quetzalcoatl Staff. They are very curious about this artefact, and would like to confirm that it is the same one. Do you have more information on the item yet? Also, with a bit of convincing, I did get out of them that they do have a ritual to destroy it, though it requires the entire artefact needs be available as well as a great deal of magic. I assured them that the latter would not be a problem. _

_The destruction of the Staff should remove the curse from anyone affected by it as well. _

_Please contact me as soon as you receive this missive to report on your current status._

_Yours in relic research,  
Argyle Popicon_

A bright grin exploded over Harry's face. "This is it! We can destroy this damned thing now. We can save Hermione and be done with this whole fucking mess!"

* * *

"Potter! Harry!"

Harry spun around to see Kingsley walking up the halls of the Ministry towards him. He'd been visiting Ron to tell him about how he could communicate with Hermione and told him what Popicon had said about the Yukon coven. Also, he wanted to get a better sense of the odd magical netting over the buildings, but had hoped he would be able to avoid his old friend.

"Kingsley, how are you?" Harry said with a false smile.

Kingsley looked at him as if he hadn't heard the empty greeting, as if something consumed every ounce of his attention. Refusing to meet his gaze, Kingsley's strong strides took him right up to Harry.

"Potter, we need to talk about your report of the Labyrinth."

Harry tried to remember the last time Kingsley had called him Potter and actually meant it. Tried to remember the last time his old friend had sounded so dead, like a hollow doll that mimicked what you spelled it to say. He couldn't find an instance, not even when Kingsley'd written _Mexico_ on a scrap of paper for him, and Harry felt like he'd utterly failed.

"You have my report, don't you, sir?" Harry asked.

"It isn't complete. You didn't include everything in that report."

Harry searched those eyes, those eyes that deftly tried to avoid his own.

"What is it you think I didn't include?" asked Harry tentatively.

Finally, Kingsley looked at him. There was nothing but pupil in those eyes, those fearful, panicked eyes.

Failed, Harry had failed.

"Harry," Kingsley said urgently. "There had to have been more in there. More artefacts. Something… something wooden, maybe about 5 feet long, like a walking staff. Or maybe a feather, you might have mistaken it as part of a headdress and just dismissed it. Did you find a feather or a long stick? Were either destroyed in the blast?" Kingsley took a step forward and gripped Harry's robes. "Did you find either of these?" His words grew in pitch and a pit opened up in Harry's stomach as Kingsley began to shake him. "Did you? Please, Harry. Did you?!"

Harry clutched at Kingsley's hands and tore them from his clothing. "No, Kingsley. I didn't. I'm so sorry," Harry sputtered. "I'm so fucking sorry." He turned and sprinted out of the Ministry, tears streaming down his eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22  
**_"__One thing I miss,__  
It's in your eyes"  
Rogue Wave – Eyes_

Draco dreamed of freedom.

In the silent hours of the early morning, those were the hopes and wishes that flitted through his sleeping mind. Freedom. Future. Redemption for all of his wrongs.

Draco dreamed of Harry.

Freedom.

Future.

He woke up fully refreshed, and fully aroused. Lying back into his pillows he allowed his memories of their night together to replay in vivid detail, full audio with sense-o-vision. He could smell Harry, taste him on his tongue, feel his fingers trailing over his skin, leaving behind goosebumps and stoking a fire like the flame of the horntail flashing through his veins.

He ran his fingers over his nipples, just like Harry had, tweaked them as he caressed his hands down his body, over his hips, rubbing along his thighs brushing against the fine hairs there. He let his imagination bring every sensation to reality as he touched the full expanse of his body, except that which coveted touch the most.

He didn't go there. He didn't touch his aching prick but let it wait in irritation. He would see Harry again, soon, and that would be so much more satisfying than a quick and lonely wank.

With a sigh, he rose and took a cold shower.

After he was clean and fed, he forlornly examined the piled up paperwork for Rain. He knew he needed to deal with all the receipts, purchase orders and personnel requests, but his mind kept returning to Harry and the fact that he was now in a Floo conference with that coven from Canada. Normally he enjoyed the paperwork, took pride and pleasure in every aspect of his club, but today it all seemed far too mundane.

Resting his chin on his hand he stared out the window and watched the sun appear through a thin layer of clouds and the birds flying past in transient flocks.

* * *

Remus amused himself by watching the intricate, yet subtle, play between the two younger men. It started with the steady twitching of Harry's eyes as they responded to every noise in the room: the tea kettle, the chiming clock, the inevitable _whoosh_ of the Floo as Draco walked through. It continued with the look of utter adoration on Harry's face as Draco casually brushed himself off and walked over to them with a warm smile on his face and his usual weight of care and attitude mysteriously gone.

Then, as Harry told them about his conversation with High Priestess Apis, the affection was constantly reinforced by casual brushes and accidental touches. One man would lay a hand on the counter and the other would reach for the sugar, gently running his wrist along the knuckles of the other. Or one of them would reach for a parchment and lean his shoulder against the other's. All casual, all easily written away as touches by close friends, thoughtless actions with no hidden meaning.

However, Remus knew the truth. He could smell each pheromone spike as skin met skin, as touch was returned by touch, as if each man, as unalike as the opposite ends of a magnet, were drawn together by that same polarity.

"So," Harry continued after one lengthy moment of silence trapped within a shared gaze, "They explained the entire ritual and it looks fairly intricate, but I'm sure we can do it. All we have left is to wait for the coven to prepare the ritual and ritual site and find the other portions of the Staff."

"Tell us about this ritual, Harry. How many people do they need? What type of tools? Perhaps I can contact them and help the preparations," Remus offered, hoping Harry could focus long enough to give him any usable information.

"Well," Harry said as he turned his body towards Remus, slightly away from Draco. Remus inwardly grinned. "It isn't so much a number of people that they need, but a power level. There are fifteen elder members in their coven, Apis said, and she told me that if I join them they would have more than enough. Do you guys want to be involved, 'cause I'll pass that on to her. I'm sure with your knowledge of the Staff you would be more useful than another witch or wizard, unless they were an artefact expert or something."

Remus looked at Draco, who returned his stare. "Harry, I think at this point you'd have to body bind us and lock us in a dungeon to keep us from participating. We want to see this through to the end," Remus said.

"Damn right," Draco replied. "Let the HP know we will be there. I'm sure they could use our valuable expertise and I'm not about to leave the destruction of this demonic stick to some inexperienced neonate."

Harry broke into a huge grin. "I should have known. Okay, I'll inform her. Anyway, they have some old magical mounds up there where they perform these kinds of high-powered rituals. It will take them some time to prepare the space, lots of warding circles and blessings and all that rot that high rituals require. Then they have this other artefact full of Light magic that will consume or house the Dark magic," Harry shrugged and shook his head, "she wasn't completely clear on that. Then someone has to keep a conduit open so the Dark goes into the Light and can't return… Not sure exactly how that works." Harry raised his eyebrows, looking dubious. "But I trust them that this will work."

"Connect me with High Priestess Apis and I will study the procedure. I'll let you know if it looks right or not." Remus knew how Harry and Draco felt. He, too, didn't want to leave the destruction of the Quetzalcoatl Staff to any amount of chance. He wanted to learn this ritual in and out to assure it would truly and wholly work.

Harry nodded. "Sure thing. I would appreciate your expertise. Right now I need to find where Scrimgeour has the Orb and find that damned Feather." Harry's eyes darkened as he frowned. "I just have no idea where to look. How do you find Dark artefacts? It's not like we can just go up to people and ask them to kindly let us go fthrough their highly illegal collection."

The scent in the room altered immediately and Draco shifted in his seat. Remus stared at the oddly guilty smelling man, but kept silent, waiting him out.

"Actually," Draco finally said, "I do know of one such collection…" He studiously examined the parchment he held stiffly in his hands. "Though, I doubt it will be useful in any way," he added offhandedly.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, his earlier playful voice now all business.

"Well, you see… Severus left me his collection, just a small collection really, and I didn't have the heart to turn it over to the Ministry. It was my last connection to him," he finished in a small voice, attempting a nonchalance he didn't achieve.

Guilt. The air was heavy with guilt.

Remus decided to throw the man a line. "So you have a few cursed items… was a feather in there?"

Draco looked up at Remus, his brow furrowed as he was obviously trying to mentally catalogue a much longer list than he wanted to admit. "Yes, there are a few feathers, actually." Remus noticed that he still refused to meet Harry's eyes. "But none of them were even remotely like the wooden pole," he said with conviction. "I really don't think any of them are part of the Staff." He finally turned to look at Harry. "I offer up the collection to you, with the slim potential that I'm wrong."

The stagnant air held like a waiting breath.

With a nod, Harry finally relaxed and smiled. "Okay, let's go check it out after I contact Apis. I'm sure that your little collection isn't anything to worry about."

Guilt. It permeated everything.

* * *

"Draco, you said _small_!"

Harry looked on in awe at the huge room full of stuff. He couldn't classify it in any other way. There were piles and shelves and cupboards and cases full of _stuff_, reaching up to the high ceiling, filling rows and aisles that stretched far off into wizard space.

He stood stiffly at the entrance of the room, afraid to touch anything. The thrum of Dark energy caused his nerve receptors to tingle and his hair felt like it was standing on end.

"Yes, well. Many wizards gave their collections to Severus because he had such an ideal location for it. And after he died… well, it was willed to me. And now here it is. The combined collection of most of wizarding England's Dark items… all right here. In my basement," he finished lamely.

Harry turned to look at Draco and gave him a stern gaze. Not quite a glare. Harry found he couldn't really be angry with Draco over this. A few months ago he would have slapped magical cuffs on the man and hauled him off to the Ministry, but now he knew Draco and knew that Draco would never use Dark objects.

Part of him still felt he had to step up and scold Draco, that he was shirking some duty by leaving the collection as it was, but he wasn't an Auror anymore. He didn't really care.

Taking a deep breath, he returned his scrutiny to the room. Upon a second examination Harry did admit that there was some organization to the stuff. Everything was clean and some of the things, Harry guessed the more dangerous, were held behind containment screens.

"Okay, Draco. Where are the feathers?"

He heard a strained sigh behind him and he turned to face Draco. "Harry, I just want…" Draco began. Harry touched his finger to Draco's lips, stalling the unnecessary apology.

He leaned forward and replaced his finger with his mouth, and in a way much better than words, reassured Draco that this did not alienate him and what were a few silly dangerous objects when it came to this thing between them. When he pulled back from the kiss, Draco was smiling and Harry felt a million times better himself.

"Over here," Draco said, and he entered the hall of stuff.

Draco led him over to a large, metal trunk. Scrolling across the surface of the trunk were letters of every conceivable alphabet, at least that Harry recognized. Roman, Cyrillic, Greek, kanji, some weird squiggly things. Draco pulled out his wand and tapped the lid of the trunk and it swung open.

A high pitched sound whirred from the trunk.

"What's that?" Harry asked, squinting at the trunk.

Draco turned to him and Harry swore the man struggled to not roll his eyes. "Harry, we must do something about your sheltered life," he said with a smirk. "This is a full sized Compilation Manager," Draco said with a flourish. The whirring stopped and it made a burping noise. Draco looked annoyed. "Well, to be honest it's never been the same since that boggart took up temporary residence." He returned his attention to the trunk and began to rummage about in it. He pulled out a tablet with birds adorning the left edge.

"Here we go; items with bird parts in them. Normally the top tablet is always the one you are after, but…" he trailed off, reading over the list.

Harry craned his neck to get a look at this list. He quickly counted over twenty items and the list looked like it continued onto the back.

"There are five single feathers in the collection. Other items included feathers, but we can examine those after we look at the singles. Sound good?" He looked up at Harry, his hair dusting the edges of his lashes, a curious expression on his face. Their eyes connected and the corners of Draco's crinkled in delight. Harry was distinctly reminded at how beautiful Draco was in these moments when time seemed to stall and the world focused on just them.

"Harry?" Draco asked, still smiling.

"Wha…?" he said startled, and time jumped, returning to steady flow. "Sure, sounds good."

Gripping the tablet, Draco wandered through the stacks of items. Harry made sure to step exactly where Draco did, just in case the floor was jinxed in any way. He would not have been surprised.

It took them almost an hour to collect all of the single feathers listed on the tablet, and then they took them to an adjoining room for study.

* * *

Draco tried to lead Harry through the stacks in a way that made the room seem less full, less large, but he knew that he'd failed. He glanced back at Harry ever few rows and saw the man's eyes wide with wonder and awe. Every so often he would reach out for an item, only to pull his hand back sharply and look over at Draco.

He would ask about little things that he saw, things that any wizarding child would know about. Like the hovering cauldron (Why does it hover? To make sure the bottom won't scorch the surface you place it on.); or the square disks of marble (Are these coasters? Coasters? Yeah, for drinks?). Draco only shook his head. It was one of the sundry things Draco would have to forgive; Harry was so incredibly plebian, touched by too much Muggleness. But he loved him, nonetheless.

Five feathers were laid across a full length table. One of them was dull and rather scruffy looking, about three inches in length and looked like it might have been plucked from a gull. The second was elegant and bright, a rainbow of colours and reached over a foot and a half in length with a bit of yarn attached to the end. The third, an obvious primary wing feather that had once adorned some bird of prey, was painted with Greek sigils. The fourth was actually two good sized feathers bound together by a leather thong, the edges tinged by some bright red dye, though the rest of the feathers were black. The last feather was a tiny thing, metallic in colour, changing from green to blue to bronze depending on the angle of the light. It let off a slightly sweet scent.

Both men glanced over the parade of feathers, but unanimously their eyes were brought back to the bright, rainbow coloured one. It could definitely have come from the mythological Quetzalcoatl.

It, however, did not put off any of the power or energy that the wooden shaft had.

Harry pulled out his wand and performed a series of diagnostic charms. Draco returned to the catalogue to get more information on the item. When he returned Harry was still bombarding the feather with spells.

"Well," Draco began, his eyes skimming the text, "this feather was given to Severus by Sir Julius Wellons about a decade ago. Prior to that it was bequeathed to the Wellons' line via some arrangement not explained in this ledger. It was believed to have been South American in origin." Draco huffed. "Its properties include enhancing other items' magic by focusing it. It hasn't been completely studied, however. Three people purportedly went mad after they'd touched it—" Harry took an involuntary step back, "—so it advises using protective gloves when handing the item." Draco sighed and spoke the last part in slow, thick words. "Believed to be a part of some greater artefact and doesn't work properly without the entire item reassembled. Well," he said once he quit reading the tablet, "that about settles that. I've got a bit of a very evil artefact hiding in my modest collection." Harry snorted, but continued his spellwork. "Pity. It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it?"

"Sure, if you think being cursed mad is an attractive quality," Harry said and turned to Draco, something like amusement in his features.

"Well, you just don't appreciate the aesthetic. And isn't it a good thing I find mad an attractive quality?" Draco added, with a wriggle to his eyebrows. "Only a mad man would be hanging out with me in my basement surrounded by Dark and cursed objects."

Draco congratulated himself when Harry smiled at the flirtatious tease. Then his heart jumped when the smile turned into something predatory as Harry began stalking towards him.

"You like mad men, do you Draco?" Harry said, his voice low. Draco took a step back for every step Harry took forward until his back hit the wall. Harry continued forward until they were chest and chest, thigh to thigh, nose to nose. "A little crazy does it for you?" Harry leaned forward and licked along Draco's throat.

Draco's body tingled and he pressed forward against Harry. Two could play this mad stalking game. "Oh yes, Harry. Mad, powerful men spark my Floo. They would have to be daring to keep up with my lifestyle of fast brooms and houses of ill repute." Draco nibbled on the corner of Harry's mouth.

"Good thing you fell for a Gryffindor, then." Harry gripped Draco's hips, pulling their groins together. "I'm sure any other man would just bore you to tears." Then he kissed Draco, kissed him like the end was nigh and Draco's lips were the only thing worth focusing on in those last final minutes. Draco returned the kiss, frantic and needy and when had he become so passionate? When had he lost control?

The two men stumbled from the little room into the stairway heading to the floor above, and landed in a lump on the stairs, Draco on the bottom with Harry straddling him. Clumsily, Harry reached for Draco's shirt and tugged it off. "Merlin, you're so fucking gorgeous," Harry said through needy pants as he continued to lick and suck and nibble every inch of visible flesh.

Something desperate raced through Draco's veins and he wanted to, no, needed to be in Harry right now. A complete loss of decorum and restraint pounded through him; Draco had never felt this before. He pushed Harry back to work on his belt and fly. Harry obligingly sat back, working on Draco's own clothing.

"Harry, I need…" Draco said, oddly at a loss for words.

"Yes." And it seemed to be all that needed to be said as Harry stood and shucked off his jeans.

Neither of them lasted long as the spontaneous flare of lust burned hot and then exploded, taking them into the realm of mindless heat and passion. Eventually, they came to, sticky and sore and oddly tangled up on the stairs, laughing at themselves.

"Well, that was unexpected," Draco said, stroking Harry's sweaty hair.

"Yeah, I know. I was just… yeah." Harry blushed and Draco kissed his nose. "I think I better keep a tube of lube with me at all times," he said with a wink and Draco laughed again.

"Might be prudent," he said. "Especially if you intend on attacking me like that regularly." Secretly, Draco hoped he would.

"Seems odd though… I really couldn't stop. I had to have you," Harry said as he trailed his finger over Draco's now pimpling skin.

Draco pondered this and then mentally slapped himself. "Well, it could be that one of those feathers has something to do with a fertility ritual."

Harry lied back on the uncomfortable stairs and laughed, his belly shaking and his eyes screwed shut. "Oh Merlin. Figures." Still breathing heavy, Harry rolled over to look at Draco, his head propped up by his arm. His eyes shone. "Well, I guess it's time to contain that feather and let Remus know we've found it. Man, I care barely walk." Harry gingerly got to his feet and cast _Scourgify_ on himself, then Draco. As Draco watched, Harry tugged up his jeans and buckled them. Harry's persistent blush was quite fetching. Finally, Draco got to his own feet and tucked himself away, then tenderly kissed Harry.

"That was nice, by the way," Draco said.

Harry looked up at him and grinned. "Was, wasn't it?"

* * *

After they conveyed the news about the feather to Remus, who was in the Yukon going over the ritual, the two men pondered how to find the orb while they walked through the hospital to visit Hermione. As they walked into her room, they saw that Ron was already here, quietly talking to Hermione, caressing her pale hand.

"Hi guys," he said as they came in. He seemed strangely drawn.

"Ron, what's up?"

Ron shrugged and laid his head down on the bed next to Hermione's shoulder. "Just work. It's hard going nowadays."

Harry exchanged a glance with Draco and he walked over to Ron and began waving his wand about.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Ron said, flapping his hand at Harry, trying to stop him from casting spells.

"Just checking something, Ron. Calm down." Harry performed the final flourish to his wand waving and then his heart sank.

"Ron," Harry said, tentatively.

"Yeah, what?" Ron asked, exhaustion lacing every word.

"Never mind. Just stay here with Hermione, okay. We're going to be gone for a while."

"Okay," Ron said, and he laid his head down again and closed his eyes.

Harry walked back across the room to the door and motioned for Draco to follow him.

"He's been cursed, Draco. He's being drained like everyone else at the Ministry; all those people who turned to St. Mungo's for a cure. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. They aren't even being careful anymore. This has got to fucking stop." Harry ground his teeth, trying to tether his anger. They were taking everything from him. Hurting everyone that mattered.

"Agreed," Draco said, far too calmly. "But where would you like to start?"

"I don't know!" Harry yelled, causing a passing Mediwizard to glare at him. Then in a quieter voice, "We can't go to Scrimgeour yet, the ritual isn't ready and we don't want to alert him too early. But we at least have to find out the location of the orb."

"I've an idea," Draco said. "We can't go to Scrimgeour, but how about the next best thing."

"Who…"

"Riley."

Harry pondered that. They could take on Riley right now; Scrimgeour probably wouldn't notice he was gone by the time they went to retrieve the orb.

"How do we find him?" Harry asked.

"Well, you just leave all the intellectual work to me and be there to back me up," Draco said flippantly.

Harry snorted. "Fine. Let's put your plan in action, oh Ravenclaw wannabe."

"Ravenclaw? As if!"

* * *

They convinced Ron to drop some hints in the Auror's office so that Kingsley had the opportunity to overhear. Draco had counted on Kingsley passing on the information he heard to Riley, or possibly Scrimgeour. Unfortunately, there was always the possibility that Kingsley himself would show. They would deal with that if that was the case, though Draco felt optimistic about Riley's desire to handle things himself.

Draco had told Ron to simply mention that Harry had been very excited to find a feather. Crazy, bloke, Harry, excited about the silliest things. And wasn't Ron disappointed that he couldn't meet Harry at his usual Thursday night lager at Good Friends Pub off of Burtle Street. Hopefully Harry didn't mind drinking alone tonight.

Ron obviously had done his job well, because as Draco watched from under Harry's invisibility cloak in an empty corner of the pub, none other than Ted Riley approached an obviously alone Harry.

With his wand's point jutting from his overly loose shirtsleeves, the Auror greeted him.

"Hey there, Potter," Riley said.

"What?" Harry jumped. From his quiet corner Draco rolled his eyes. Drama Queen. "Riley, what…"

"Shut your trap, Potter. Stand up and walk out the door."

Harry held his arms out to his side and rose from the stool. Riley, practically bonded to Harry's back, followed behind until the two left the pub.

Draco was fast on their heels.

"Down there, Potter," Riley directed, and Harry turned left down the alley next to the pub. The neon sign sputtered in the night.

"Riley, come on. What's going on here?" Harry stammered. He turned his head to look at Riley and Riley jabbed him with his wand.

"Face foreword," he said, so focused on Harry, it took Draco little effort to curse the man with a silent _Incarcerous_. Bindings flew out of Draco's wand and wrapped around Riley's body, cocooning him so tight that his wand fell from his restricted grip.

Swift as lightening, Harry spun on Riley and slammed him into the brick wall.

"Come on Riley, time to loose those lips. I know you're with Scrimgeour. I know you're both cursing the wizarding populous."

"Let me go, Potter. You've no idea what power we control," Riley said, spit flicking off his lips with the force of his words.

"Let you go?" Harry said incredulously, his voice low, slipping out from clenched jaws. "Tell me where the fuck the orb is and I might let you _live_. This isn't about you being let go. This isn't about a slap on the hand and you run back to your orderly world of werewolf abuse and arse kissing, this is about you cursing my friends and trying to control the entire wizarding world!" Harry's words grew quiet, more enunciated as he continued. "This is about you telling me where the fucking orb is and me maybe not handing you over to the dementors in the time it takes to Apparate to Azkaban."

Harry laid the tip of his wand against Riley's temple and murmured a few words. Little shards of light slipped from the wand and burrowed into the frightened man's head. He thrashed and screamed and Draco could smell the acrid scent of urine fill the air.

"Stop. Please. Stop. Get them out of _my head_!" he screamed, the words morphing into a wail of panic.

"Tell. Me. Where. It. Is." Menace dripped from every word.

His eyes rolling back, Riley tried to pull his head away, but Harry gripped his jaw tight in his hand, the other pressing the wand into the man's temple. "It's in a church. Please, just stop. I can't think."

"What church." Harry pressed the wand farther into the skin and Draco watched as the divot seemed far too deep, that it should have hit bone by then. Something within him went cold and he reached out to grip Harry's shoulder, to break Harry from that fearsome anger.

"Our Holy Weeper," Riley wimpered and Harry pulled back. Without support the man fell forward, hitting the ground like a bale of wool, the sound loud and oddly flat.

Harry called up his Patronus and sent it to Ron, informing him that they had Riley in custody and were taking him to the special holding cell they had prepared. Before they Apparated with their prisoner, Draco looked at Harry. He wasn't sure what to say. "That wasn't very nice," he said lamely.

"Sorry, but I'm all outta nice," Harry replied.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**  
_"You say to yourself, "Dear God what have I done?"  
__And hope it's not too late 'cause tomorrow may never come"  
Social Distortion – Reach for the Sky_

The next morning, the two men Apparated to the small church. Faint energies clashed around the property, spawning anxiety and alarm, breeding a sense of something unbalanced, of a world missing some vital, encompassing piece, yet something else soothed and calmed, abating the more violent charge surrounding the hallowed ground.

Our Holy Weeper sat on the corner of two quiet lanes in a rural suburb known for good schools and safe streets. It was a small parish, holding a hundred members if they were cozy, with crow-stepped gables topped by a wooden cross. A small churchyard surrounded the building, its aging, slanted headstones well tended and moss-free. Venerable oaks lined the pavement, uplifting the pathway's edges as if it rested along the boundary of a great fault.

Harry glanced at Draco and then returned his gaze to the church, frowning at the odd magical tempest. They continued to stand there as a grey cat crossed the street and slid underneath a white-washed rail fence.

"Harry," Draco said quietly. "You feel that?"

Harry gave a slow nod.

Together, they walked up the uneven pavement to the entrance of the church. The doors, wooden and bound by wrought iron, groaned as Draco pushed them open. A small, hairless man shuffled up to them with a welcoming smile. He wore overalls and his teeth rested in his mouth like the tombstones of the cemetery outside, all different sizes and leaning in cock-eyed angles.

"Welcome to Our Holy Weeper," said the man in a high, eager voice. "Are you here to worship, or shall I tell you about our lovely church in a short tour?"

Harry grinned at the man, agreeing on the tour before Draco could halt what would most likely prove to be a long and tedious history lesson of Muggle faith.

The little man smiled, handed them each a pamphlet, and began to lead them through the building. "This is a late-12th century church. In the south aisle, formerly a chapel to St. Mary, is the fine memorial brass to Sir John de Yorse, dated 1476." Harry and Draco looked at the brass. Harry reached out to touch, but quickly pulled his hand away at a _tsking_ noise from the man. Their tour guide continued on and they followed, exploring the rather rundown interior of the church. "The remains of what would have been a substantial funerary monument to Sir Thomas Whirley, his wife Anne and their eleven children are placed on the windowsill there." The little man pointed as they passed the sill. "It is likely that the monument was smashed during some local violence on the grounds in the mid 1680s. It is said that the church had been built upon some ancient stone ring—" then he learned towards them and chuckled, "—probably some bloody sacrifices happened here, if you ask me." He cleared his throat, leaned back and resumed his lecturer's expression. "However, this hasn't been confirmed because the parish has not allowed any surveys to be performed."

Finally, they stood before a small donation box and the man gave them another view of his unkempt teeth. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from that crooked smile as Harry deposited a few quid.

"Well, sir, do you mind if we look around on your own?" Harry asked, donning his "All Around Good Guy" guise, and duped, the man agreed.

As they returned to the pulpit in the back of the church, Harry scanned for the man before they slipped into a back room.

"It's definitely here. Do you feel that?" Draco asked, investigating the area with his eyes as he sensed the strong magic in the building and air around him swirling like a tempest.

"I felt it the moment we arrived. Only it's really strong here. Right below us." Harry tapped the floor with his toe.

They began to search for a stairway down and found it behind a little cupboard. Hunched over to save their heads from the rough brick edges, they descended into the dark cellar.

Magical energy swiped against Draco, soaking into his skin, into his mind and heart, touching his magical core as he took the creaking stairs one at a time. A cobweb fluttered before his wandlight and he brushed it away. Everything was dim in the cramped stairway, his _Lumos_ smothered, even sound seemed to be soaked up into that dark veil. Harry's eyes were squinting and Draco knew that his every sense was drawn fine, feeling and listening and searching for the slightest change in that silent void. In time they stepped into an open room.

The room measured about ten feet by ten feet, with wooden slats lining the earthen walls. In the center of the room on a high table sat a simple mount and resting on the mount was the orb. Swirling, hypnotic colours danced within the crystalline ball; power pulsed and taunted and swayed.

How the Muggles who worshipped in the run down house of God didn't sense the terrible thing, Draco couldn't fathom. It was a mystery that they could sing their psalms and hear sermons of hell and damnation without feeling that intimate touch of malevolence. Perhaps their virtuous reverence and quiet prayers soothed it, smothering that hunger shifting within.

He had faced both dark wizards and vampires in his day, but nothing seeped of evil like the artefact nestled below the floorboards, hidden away like a dreadful secret. Its magnificence was disarming; its hollow need was far, far worse.

_Come to me wizard. It matters not. I can promise eternity. Nothing else matters. Nothing matters but the Abyss. My Shining Son, you are mine._

Harry's arm reached out, seemingly of its own accord, pulled and drawn toward the crystalline ball, trapped under something far more unbreakable than Imperius, far more fatal than death. Entranced. Doomed.

Draco grabbed his hand, stalling Harry's advance for the orb. "No," his voice strained. "Let's go."

As his ego began to give way, gulping up lungfuls of air, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and Disapparated from the orb's unholy touch.

* * *

The orb pulsed. _The Shining Son._ Sweet power radiated from the wizard and the orb pulsed.

* * *

Harry had a headache of the severity only a case of home brewed moonshine could have induced.

"Holy Hell, kill me," he meant to say, however only "olyellee" came out.

"Harry?" A soothing hand traced his face. "You alive in there?"

Harry grunted. "'aco?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Draco said, his voice warm. A cool cloth settled on his forehead. It felt like heaven. "Here, take your potion."

Draco lifted up Harry's head and dribbled something into his slack mouth. With saintly patience he helped Harry drink the entire bottle.

"You'll feel better in a few minutes and then we need to talk. I'll be out in the living room."

Harry waited as his murky thoughts and jumbled brain slowly realigned and began to work once more. He rose from bed and examined himself in the mirror. He looked like shite. Patting down his hair he went to talk to Draco, wondering exactly what had Draco in this brood.

Draco was sitting pensively on the couch, leaning forward, his elbows on knees, pressing his fingers against each other then relaxing them. He did this over and over again. When Harry entered, he glanced up and smiled wanly.

"What happened?" Harry asked, concerned.

Draco sighed heavily, but said nothing. Harry walked over and sat next to him on the couch, tentatively reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder.

Draco smiled thinly at him. Harry's diaphragm contracted.

Draco looked away. "Okay, I'm just going to say it; I've been thinking over this for a while, but I'm just going to say it." The fingers flexed. "Harry… I'm afraid something inside of you is going to snap someday and you're going to kill someone, someone you don't necessarily want to go to Azkaban for killing." Draco took a deep breath and looked up at Harry, his hands now gripping each other tight.

Harry's mind emptied. That wasn't what he was expecting.

"It's like you're not _you_ when it happens, like something else has taken over. I… I just worry." The anxiety evident on Draco's face shocked Harry. "I know that this case is important and I _know_ that that fucking orb isn't a pleasure to deal with… but you can't keep snapping like that."

"I didn't do anything in the church, did I?" Harry asked, wondering if he'd blacked out under the orb's power. Draco slowly lowered his eyelids and shook his head. Then two and two immediately summed up to his interrogation of Riley. "It's about Riley, then?"

Draco's eyes snapped open, practically bulging, as if he was trying to plant reason and awareness in Harry's mind with Legilimency. "It's about Riley and it's about Kogelman and it's about you turning into Mad Auror and I just don't want to see you really, finally, lose control." Draco stopped and took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you how I feel. Just… just wanted you to know." He was looking down at his hands again and Harry sat there, staring at him, unsure of what to say. Of what to think.

Finally, Draco stood and presented Harry with a not entirely passable smile. "Well, I have to get back to Rain." He reached out his hand and Harry grabbed it, squeezed. "Dinner tonight?" Draco asked.

In a daze, Harry nodded, thinking of what Draco had said. "Yeah, sure. Here?"

"Okay, I'll be by at seven."

Then Draco left, and Harry continued to sit and wonder at his words.

* * *

Remus stood waiting next to the couch, looking kindly upon Harry, who simply looked miserable.

"And then he said that he just wanted me to know that he was all worried I would crack. What the hell? What does he mean?" Harry gripped large clumps of his hair in his hands as he leaned forward, bowed head facing the floor.

He sounded defeated, not angry, not betrayed, just wounded, like he'd lost the big game when he was certain he had it in the bag. "I thought…" he began, but apparently couldn't finish. Then he buried his face in his hands, his shaggy hair hiding him from the judgmental gaze of the world.

Remus stepped around to the front of the couch and stood before Harry. "Perhaps he's concerned, Harry. Obviously he cares about you. Do _you_ think you go too far, that your control is slipping?"

Harry's shoulders stiffened and his fingers dug deeper into his hair. A heavy sigh shifted his entire frame and Remus heard a muffled, "Maybe."

"Well, if you think that—maybe—your anger slips, then perhaps you do have some control… issues. Harry, I'm not saying you do or you don't, I'm just saying that I have some understanding on losing control. It isn't easy, but you can rein it in. If anyone can, you can. If you want to talk about it, I'm here. And Draco's here. You have a very dedicated group of people who are all there for you."

"I know," Harry said into his hands.

"He really does care. You do know that, right?" Remus asked.

It was a long, drawn out moment before Harry nodded his head, his hair swaying with the movement. Finally, he sat up, a mix of shy delight and anxiety fighting for control of his features. "I know… and I do, too. Care," Harry amended.

"Obviously," Remus said grinning.

"Well," Harry said with a playful smirk, "I'm not the only one. What's with you and Sirius. You sure seem like more than just old buddies."

Remus shrugged. "I don't know, Harry. I'll be completely honest and admit it: I don't know. It's not like he's here in the flesh and we can grab dinner together or plan a future or anything as domestic as that. But… Well, let's just say that there is something there that wasn't there before." Remus exhaled softly and stared off towards the Floo.

Harry snorted, but didn't say anything else. Eventually, Remus continued. "I feel like I have a second chance, however fleeting it might be. I've always loved Sirius, as a best friend and all, and I know him well." Remus lifted his gaze to the ceiling, swallowing.

"It's just that… don't I deserve this? Don't I get love? Don't I ever get a chance?" He took a deep breath, not quite sure where his sudden diatribe had come from. "I'm pissed that I screwed up my opportunity before and now it's like I have this precious gift, fragile and limited and I want to cradle it, to protect it, but I also want to let it be free to enjoy it. I've never had much, Harry, and I want this."

The two men stared at each other.

"Oh, God. That sounds so cheesy," Remus said, pressing his palm across his eyes.

Harry snorted. "I want this, too," he said.

Remus turned to Harry. "We deserve it."

With a dual nod they smiled. Remus understood that he needed to take these shining moments when the universe offered them up and he refused to turn away from gifts waiting at his feet.

* * *

The Portkey tugged at their navels and pulled them through to a bitterly cold landscape.

"Well, guess this is the Yukon," Draco mumbled at the falling snow. "Not a favourite destination for holiday, I would guess." He clutched his robes tightly around him as he scanned the scant countryside. Long, meandering hills twisted over the flat land, surrounding a large, squat building. The air was clean and sharp, the open tundra empty of life and sound.

Because the weather in England was rather mild, this bitter cold caught them off guard, ripping through their flimsy clothes. A light touch of snow soon began to coat the men.

"Let's get inside," Remus said, turning up the collar to his corduroy jacket. He turned from the others and walked towards the short warehouse large enough to cover a city block. All of the windows were small and no light shone from them. One thick, metal door waited near the far end. It was painted gray, like the gray cinderblocks the rest of the building was built out of. Not a speck of colour could be found.

Remus banged on the door with his knuckles as Draco spelled them warm with a charm. Harry smiled at the gesture causing that nugget of warmth to grow even stronger. The snow dusting their shoulders and heads began to melt.

A loud snap echoed through the building and then the door opened before them. "Yes?" came a disembodied voice. "State your business."

"Professor Argyle Popicon sent us to meet with High Priestess Apis. We are Remus Lupin, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," Remus said into the dull blackness of the open door. The secrecy and ordeal to enter the place intrigued Draco and he was more than a little interested in seeing what lay within.

A short, well-endowed and substantial woman walked through the darkened opening. Her thick hands where clasped before her and her smile was so electric that Draco found himself smiling back. At the awareness, he dropped the smile and glanced at Harry and Remus to see if they'd noticed, but they were apparently mesmerized by this happy person as well.

"Oh! We are so excited to have you here," she twittered. "Welcome, come in, come in. Sorry for all the cinematics, but we must maintain a certain appearance, I'm sure you understand." Harry caught Draco's eye and winked at him. "I'm Alissa McCormick. It's an honour."

With enthusiasm she fluttered her hands about, ushering them in. She wore a floor length, flowery dress that held no curves and made her look like a head and arms attached to a bell.

The men walked through the darkness and Draco sensed an array of spells tingling against his own magic. After a few steps they emerged into the light and the tingle morphed from intrusive, to sustaining. He felt his own power flex with a surge of energy. This place must to be a magical conduit of a particularly stout type.

Alissa's voice was high and chirpy. "Excuse me, but is there a fourth with you?" She craned her neck, looking around. Again, the men exchanged glances.

"Well," Harry piped up, "We do have an attending… um, spirit I guess you can call him. He only shows sometimes. He's the one that has the staff and feather under control right now."

"Oh? Oh! Well, that's certainly something to talk about, isn't it?" she bubbled, her hands framing her jowly cheeks.

The entire building housed a large open area with a few smaller rooms lined along the western side. A bustle of people were milling about, moving things from one table to another, or on hands and knees inscribing sigils into the floor within a protection circle that covered most of the centre of the building. Some wore robes, but most of them were dressed in Muggle styles. One young man even wore overly baggy shorts, though Draco could still see traces of his own breath within the warehouse.

"Please, follow me. I know everyone is eager to meet you. We've brought all of our Masters in for this ritual, and of course Marissa Apis and David Wolfwood are here as well." She stopped in mid-speech and whirled around to face them; her dress floated in the current. "Though, I must warn you, Wolfwood has a bit of a harsh demeanour."

She escorted them through the open room introducing them to everybody and anybody and each witch and wizard was eager to shake their hands; apparently English wizards were a rarity in the Yukon.

"It isn't that," Alissa explained at Harry's inquiry. "While yes, they are excited to meet you, being who you are and all, but this Staff… You don't understand what a legacy the Quetzalcoatl Staff is for our coven. The legends are passed down to every new initiate and the fact that it now returns to us, well it just defies probability!"

Short, quick steps transported Alissa up to a tall, elegant woman reviewing a map hanging from the wall. Little sparks of light periodically highlighted different sections of the map that looked to cover the world. Her blond hair, highlighted with the silver of impending age, was pulled back into a lose bun on the top of her head and she wore slim spectacles on a chain that Madam Pince would have admired. The similarities didn't end there, for the woman had a pinched look to her face, a disapproving moue to her lips, however, when she saw the three men approach, she smiled and a light in her eyes washed all discontent away.

"These must be the three young men from England," she said warmly, holding out her hands to shake each of theirs. Draco noted her grip was firm and her hands warm. She smelled of fresh violets.

"Hello Miss Apis, I'm Harry Potter, this is Draco Malfoy and Remus Lupin," Harry introduced them all and Apis nodded to each one.

"I want to thank you for coming, and bringing us the Staff of Quetzalcoatl. It truly is a monumental moment for all of us." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and Draco noted a slight shake to her hand. "I dare say, it seems we will need a new purpose for our coven after this." Everyone chuckled at that, except for a man who walked up to stand next to her. He looked upon Apis with respect, though his features looked incapable of any sort of amusement.

She turned to the new arrival and introduced them to the dour man. He was middle-aged with a scruffy looking beard and almost no hair on the top of his head. Dressed in more traditional wizard clothing, he had an appearance of royalty in his posture and presence. His sharp eyes caused Draco to feel a slight itch along his spine, as if the wizard was examining him under an amplioscope, dissecting needle poised at the ready.

"This is my second, Mr. Hart Wolfwood," Apis said. "Hart, this is Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and Remus Lupin."

"Ah, I see, the hapless British wizards who'd stumbled upon the Staff during a routine smuggler bust have arrived." He turned from Apis' disappointed look to the men. "Charmed, I'm sure." He looked down upon each of them through heavy lidded eyes and Draco smirked, cocked an eyebrow and shared an entire conversation on the status of the louts they were forced to share company with in the span of five seconds.

He felt vaguely guilty afterwards.

"Mr. Wolfwood," Harry said, offering his hand to shake. Wolfwood looked at Harry's hand and stood there, as if waiting for a better offer.

"Oh Hart, don't be such a sour puss," Apis scolded.

"Ah, this brings back memories," Harry mumbled towards Draco and Remus: the first snorted in response and the latter chuckled under his breath.

"It certainly does," Draco said happily.

Draco and Wolfwood hit it off so quickly they'd begun sharing potions theories within the first few hours of their arrival. He knew he would always have a Severus shaped hole in his life and never expected it to be filled by a Canadian of all people.

Popicon arrived later that evening with a satchel full of potions and scrolls and little instruments that could have made friends with those odd whirligigs in Dumbledore's office. He and Apis huddled together discussing an aged parchment. On it were lines upon lines of ancient words that crackled with power. Wolfwood organized a workbench and then poured himself a glass of whiskey. Finally, at close to midnight, after most of the witches and wizards departed for their homes for the evening, a handful of people sat together and discussed the upcoming ritual.

Draco, Remus and Harry sat to one side with Popicon on their right. Apis, Alissa, Wolfwood and a few other wizards and witches sat in the remaining circle of chairs.

Wolfwood scowled at the group. "So, you have all of the portions of the Staff other than the orb," he began in a gruff tone as Apis shook her head in amused resignation at him. "And of that you know of its whereabouts. Why didn't you bring it as well?" Wolfwood asked but didn't wait for any of them to answer. "As for that, where are the staff and the feather; we should put them under containment immediately."

Harry sat forward in his chair. "Well, we currently have them under control. Are you sure your containment spells will work adequately?"

Draco held his tongue, though his eyebrows did rise at the query. Certainly if they'd expected this group to destroy the artefact, they could trust them to have the know-how to house it.

Wolfwood harrumphed as if his family line had just been defamed. "Of course we can contain the parts of the artefact, Mr. Potter." Harry flinched, and as Wolfwood dove into explaining the exact detail on how the containment field was established and the specific spells used in its creation and maintenance, Harry's eyes glazed over.

Finally, Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. Alright, alright. I get it."

"Oh, but I was enjoying that little lesson," chuckled Popicon.

Harry snorted at the man, then turned back to Wolfwood. "Are you ready to receive them, then?" he asked.

"Of course," Wolfwood snorted. "But where are they?"

Harry looked over at Remus, who nodded then called out, "Sirius, can you show up now?" The circle of witches and wizards all looked up in shock, one even jumped to his feet, as Sirius shimmered into existence. "Sirius here," Remus gestured, "is containing the two artefact pieces."

"What? How is this possible?!" one red-faced witch exclaimed, her cheeks rosy. She vaguely reminded Draco of their old Herbology professor, all ratty and cheerful.

Remus shrugged. "Not quite sure. But when you're ready, he can bring them forth, right Sirius?" Sirius nodded, his form shifting with flashes of contrasting black and white.

"Well, this is interesting. I would like to study this… ghost?" Apis looked at Harry for confirmation.

"We're not certain what he is. He walked through a magical, possibly necromantic, archway that we have little information on. We thought he was dead for many years," Harry explained with a warm smile at Sirius. "We're happy to have him around—" his face became shadowed "—even if we don't know for how long."

Remus looked to Harry and offered him a wan smile. Sirius watched them silently.

"I see. Terribly fascinating," Apis said as she squinted at Sirius who continued to shimmer in negative.

Wolfwood nodded in agreement, a crinkle developing between his eyes. "Something to study later, I think. We should get this done." The man stood and the others followed his lead. The crowd walked to a stone locker, about six feet in height, tall enough to contain the staff. "It's made of blood basalt and has been enhanced with dampening spells. It has three containers to separate each portion of the Staff. I'm sure you don't want me to continue with the details." He looked poignantly at Harry, who raised his hands in surrender and shook his head.

He again looked around to the gathered assembly. "Are we ready?" he asked and many eager heads bobbed, all eyes on Sirius. Sirius, too, nodded.

Wolfwood donned a thick glove and reached out to Sirius. Sirius held out his hand, then pinching his fingers together, he turned his hand towards himself and then pushed it into his chest. Draco squashed a sharp gag reflex as Sirius' chest's surface tension gave and his hand sunk in through clothing, skin and flesh. He heard a soft gasp over his shoulder. With a flash of light, Sirius pulled out his hand, his ethereal fingers gripped tight around the staff.

And Draco could have counted the second between the presentation of the staff and Harry's lurch next to him.

"Harry?" Draco asked in concern, gripping Harry's arm to keep him upright. Harry pulled against him; his glazed eyes scarily familiar, taking Draco back to the bone riddled hall. Continuing to pull, Draco dug his heels in to stall Harry's forward motion.

"Hurry up, would you!" he called out to Wolfwood.

The wizard had taken the wooden shaft from Sirius and now stood there, staring at it in adoration and awe. Apis gaped in shock, taking a step back from Wolfwood as the rest of the gathering all shared expressions of worship and Draco cried out to Sirius, "Take it back! Take it from him and put it in the box." He returned his attention to Harry, calling to him, funnelling energy into that golden dragon he'd left safely behind. "Be strong, Harry. Be strong. You can do this."

It all happened so quickly, from Draco struggling against the shaft's dominion of Harry to its entire subjugation of the coven. It was hot, so hot, and Draco couldn't breathe. Then, in a separate instant, a loud click filled the room and everyone stumbled to the floor, panting, exhausted, released from the puppeteers strings. Draco almost fell upon Harry as he too was freed from the infinite power of the artefact.

Clinging to each other they looked up and saw Sirius and Remus standing by the stone locker; Remus, with his back to the box's door, panting heavily, his eyes the sharp colour of the wolf's, his mouth distended with a definite hint of fang protruding from his lip. Slowly, the wolfish features faded, soaked into his skin and smoothed away; even more slowly everyone rose up off the ground.

"Wow," said Wolfwood. Alissa tittered, a tinny madness to the sound. Someone else sobbed.

"So, you've had your first taste of this artefact. What do you think now?" Draco asked the crowd.

"Holy fuck," the rosy cheeked woman said, causing Draco to re-evaluate his perception of her demeanour. He could never imagine Sprout saying such epithets.

Apis shook her head in disbelief. "I had no idea… No idea."

Remus surveyed the crowd, who stared over at him and Sirius with wide eyes and open mouths. "One more. Though the feather doesn't have the power the shaft does. Anyone plan to clear out after that last display?" Remus asked. The teenager in shorts took a few steps away from Sirius, but the rest seemed ready to try their mettle against the Dark one more time.

With an equal mix of fear and anticipation, the coven watched as Sirius reached within himself again and pulled out a feather. A collective sigh echoed through the room as they looked upon the beautiful plume. Remus popped the locker door wide and the pull of the shaft kicked in, causing the group en masse to take a step forward. Then Sirius dropped the feather in a small partition of the blood basalt case and Remus slammed the door closed.

"Wow," Wolfwood said again, scratching at his bald head.

Remus slumped against the locker and slipped down the length of it, exhausted. Draco and Harry went to him. "You okay, Remus?" Harry asked, offering his hand.

Remus looked at it, then looked at the three men standing above him. "Wore me out, is all. Between that damned thing and Moony… just wore me out." He took a deep breath and let it gush from his lungs as he rubbed one hand across his temple. It was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"So," Draco said to Remus, though he surveyed the group, who seemed quite happy to be chatting amongst themselves on this astounding display of power. "You can still manifest the … wolf? It helped fight the Staff's power?"

Remus nodded. "Yeah, I think I'll always be able to bring forth Moony if I need to, just sometimes I still get that whole rabid animal drive." Remus laughed depreciatingly. "But I needed his stubbornness to help fight the shaft. Damn. I need some sleep," he said, then rubbed his hands through his hair, bringing out the gray as it shimmered in the incandescent lighting.

"Excuse me." The men turned and saw Apis standing there. "It's awfully late and everyone's exhausted… and you don't look so well yourself." She smiled down at Remus, who slowly climbed to his feet with Harry's help. "Why don't I show you to your rooms; we have a few guest quarters. Nothing much, but it's better than trying to find a hotel out here in the tundra." She chuckled softly.

"We can share a room, we don't mind," Harry said with a gesture at Draco, red flags of embarrassment gracing his cheeks. Draco stared open-mouthed, then smiled. What the hell. What did it matter? He had no concern for how others would perceive him, because here was Harry and he was smiling. At him. Openly accepting him for all that he was.

"Yeah, not a problem. We're shagging anyway," Draco added for the benefit of the swooning girl in the back. He clearly heard, "Damn, why are all the hot ones gay," and smirked up at Harry, who kept smiling.

Remus chuckled and slapped them on the back. "Well, guess I'll see you in the morning," he said, and they followed Apis to the line of small rooms hugging the side of the building. Harry and Draco nonchalantly entered one as a few women watched in dismay, and Remus entered the other, followed closely by the ghost of Sirius.

* * *

Remus lay on his fold-out cot, the middle bar dug into his back causing him to toss and turn, to search for a position less backbreaking. The room he'd been placed in was small and square, only separated from the ritual site by thin plywood walls and a coating of insulation charms. The magic in the room flowed through everything, from floor to ceiling to the damned uncomfortable cot, and he wondered how it might affect the people who lived here for any duration. After five minutes of contemplating the spell-work and wriggling around for comfort, he climbed out of the cot and transfigured it into a proper bed with mattress and sheets.

He crawled under the covers, ready to doze off after the very busy day, when he felt a tingle in his brain. His eyes popped open to search the room.

Sirius stood next to the bed, looking down on him.

"Hey there," Remus said with a tired smile. Sirius shimmered at him. His mouth moved, saying what looked like, "Hey there," but it was soundless, only a mirage.

"Care to join me?" Remus asked as he tossed back the covers, his heart in his throat, a downward turn to his mouth. Why hadn't he done anything when they could actually touch? Be together? Live?

It'd actually been an odd action, something he hadn't even put any thought to and almost admonished himself for doing something so foolish, when Sirius's form seemed to grow opaque. And then he sat on the bed.

The bed dipped.

"What!" Remus cried out as he sat up. The blankets fell from his torso to settle at his waist.

He stared at Sirius. Sirius stared at him. With one tentative hand Remus reached out… and touched his oldest friend.

Remus jerked his hand away. "How?" He seemed capable of only one word sentences.

"I think it's this place, Moony. So much magic—" Sirius glanced around, his eyes oddly glowing in the dark room, like a cat's, "—that I seem to be absorbing it somehow to—" he held out his arms in presentation, "—to grow some substance. Or maybe it's 'cause I'm not holding that Darkness within me."

A smile, full of teeth and pleasure, bloomed on Remus' lips. He reached out again and gingerly ran a finger along Sirius' hand, rubbing along the ridges of his tendons, brushing against each fingernail.

"It's really you. Here. In the flesh." His words ended with a sob and then he gripped Sirius' wrist and pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Merlin," he breathed into that dark thatch of hair. He smelled freshly washed. "God. It's really you."

Sirius twisted so they were chest to chest and he wrapped his own arms around his old friend. "Yes. It really is."

With sudden awareness, Remus tensed. He was in bed, holding onto his old friend, who he'd recently thought of in romantic terms, who was a man.

"Uh…" He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew he didn't want to let go. Instead he began drawing his hand up and down Sirius' back, wriggling his fingers in the hair at the nap of his neck. Feeling him.

"Feels good," Sirius murmured into Remus' shoulder, leaning into his embrace. "Feels so good to touch you, Moony. God, I've wanted this for so long. Back in the shack and before…" Sirius' words died on his lips and he clung roughly onto Remus, holding on like something might tear him away from that embrace and bury him in an ocean of lost memories and despair.

"Shh," Remus said as he stroked Sirius' hair. Silken ebony. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so obtuse. I'm so sorry I didn't see. You know me, I can be so dense; I needed a hard kick in the arse," Remus said with a chuckle and then he gently kissed the top of Sirius head, just to see what it was like.

And it was bliss.

If that was all he would ever get, Sirius in his arms, a gentle kiss to the top of his head, Remus would be content, for it was more than he had ever hoped he'd be given.

Sirius lifted his head and that goofy, half-cocked grin on his face caused Remus to laugh again, only this time full and joyful. "What?" he asked, happy but a little self-conscious.

"Moony. Remus, do you think…" Remus watched as Sirius' gaze darted from his own amber ones down to his lips and then returned to his face. The moisture in Remus' throat evaporated at the suggestion in that shift of eyes. He swallowed, then darted out his tongue to wet his lips, shocked at the spike of desire he saw in Sirius' gaze as he watched Remus' mouth.

"Sirius." Inexorably he found himself leaning forward, gaze set on his prize, those soft, full, _real_ lips. And just like that, they met.

_I'm kissing a man. I'm kissing _Sirius_. And damn, it is so good._ Random thoughts played through Remus' mind as his lips brushed against his best friend's. Though Sirius was only a corporeal ghost, a half person if Remus wanted to be cruel, every part of himself felt more genuine right at this moment than he had during the last few years of his life. This was no shadow, no reflection of a life better lived; this was truly happening and his heart's racing pace let him know with each beat that he loved every minute of it.

Sumptuous, his lips were sumptuous, and Remus prolonged the kiss, tasting and licking and lying back as Sirius leaned forward, spreading beneath this dark and sexy man. It was new and right and Remus surrendered to it. "Sirius. God, Sirius. I need you," he groaned out as his erection was pressed between the two men's bodies. Sirius reached up and brushed a finger over Remus' face, his eyebrows and lips, his cheeks and every scar.

"I'm here, Remus. I'm here." Sirius leaned forward and kissed away Remus' fears and warmth bubbled within him as he realized wishes really do come true and, even if brief, second chances were always worth taking.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_"Son when you grow up, will you be the saviour of the broken,  
The beaten and the damned?"_

_My Chemical Romance – Welcome to the Black Parade_

A loud knock reverberated through the hollow, wooden door, rattling it on its hinges. "You guys up yet? Still shagging?" came the words loud and clear.

"Good morning, Wolfwood," Draco said cheerily as he peeled himself off of Harry. Harry grabbed his waist and pulled him back down for a kiss.

"Breakfast is in ten minutes. Don't miss it or you'll make Nancy cry," Wolfwood said and then footsteps faded away.

"Guess the privacy charms are down," Harry said, grinning up at Draco.

"Don't tell me… You didn't notice when they came down?" Draco asked in mock shock.

"I was kind of busy," he said and lunged for Draco's ear, sucking heavily on it as he rolled it between his teeth. Draco groaned; Harry'd quickly discovered Draco's ears and sucking were a mighty combination.

They wasted another few minutes before duty forced them out of bed. After charming away love bites and morning breath, they pulled on the same clothes from yesterday.

Remus sat at the long table with Sirius sitting next to him. Sirius laughing and talking and eating food and completely, entirely corporeal.

Harry's step faltered.

"Sirius!" Harry cried out. When Sirius was a ghost, that phantom being, Harry didn't really think of it as Sirius, just a diluted counterfeit, but now this laughing man, barking at some joke someone must have said, was real. "Sirius!"

Harry ran to him.

"Harry!" Sirius stood so quickly, his chair teetered haphazardly on two legs before he enveloped Harry in a bear hug. "Can you believe this?" The two men embraced and slapped each other's backs; ages came and passed before they pulled apart, smiling like fools.

"You certainly are an odd group," Wolfwood said. "I think there is little about you now that would shock me." He looked at them with heavy eyes, and Harry doubted this wizard would be surprised if a dodo bird paraded itself before him in a top hat.

"How are you whole?" Harry asked, then realized how callous he sounded. "I mean…"

Sirius 'thunked' him on the back again with his right arm and gripped him tight with the other. "Oh come now." He shook his head, a bright grin proving no insult. "Don't worry about it. And I think I'm whole because of this building." He looked around the warehouse. "It's thrumming with magic. It must be sustaining me."

A moment of silence settled upon the room, Harry staring at Sirius, Sirius glowing with life, and finally Wolfwood ordered them to sit and eat, and without complaint they did so.

The table wasn't overly burdened by food, and though Harry didn't want to seem like an uncultured pig, the hash browns were so damned good, not to mention the waffles slathered with cream and strawberries, that he found himself sheepishly returning for seconds.

"So," Draco said, drawing attention away from Harry's bottomless stomach. "How long has this coven been at this location?"

The crowd delivered a truncated history of the coven-in short snippets and interjections—that had been around for centuries with the secrets and knowledge passed from the elders to the initiates over the years. Harry was astounded to hear about such a closed society. Britain's Statute of Secrecy held nothing on this coven's near fanatical hold on their secrets. He was surprised they'd even let him and his friends in.

"Mr. Potter… Harry," the youngest male of the group interrupted. "I know we aren't supposed to ask, but how did you defeat that Dark wizard in England? Even us isolated wizards up here heard about him. What was his name? Vandermar? Baltarmurt? Something like that?"

The silence iced over the previously jovial breakfasting. Half the coven scowled at their member even as they glanced over at Harry in poorly veiled curiosity.

Harry shifted in his seat, as usual uncomfortable under the gaze of so many people. "I didn't do it alone," he mumbled into his glass of orange juice. He pondered the juice, blocking out the mumblings of the diners. Its colour practically glowed and it tasted too sweet, but he guessed it wasn't bad.

"So," a middle aged woman said, "you must be rather powerful to have taken on so much."

Harry knocked his glass trying to set it down on the table; tendons ridged along the flat surface of the back of his hand. "It wasn't just me." His voice was loud in his ears. "I'm nothing special. Other people did far more than me; I was just in the wrong prophecy at the wrong time and…" Harry stopped, his initial, confused fury shrinking under the eyes of a score of people.

"But you are powerful, we can all tell. You and your friends. You're all… mighty or something," said the youth with a cocksure grin. Something about him reminded him of a younger Sirius, and so he looked at his godfather for comparison. Sirius only watched Harry with eyebrows raised.

Draco cleared his throat, drawing Harry's attention. He exchanged a look with Harry then with the people around the table.

"We ran the gauntlet through hell and are here to tell the tale. _That_ makes us mighty," Draco explained succinctly.

* * *

"The ritual is prepared. All we require is the final puzzle piece and we shall destroy the Dark artefact forthwith. Are you ready?" asked Apis, her hands gripped tight before her. Harry rolled his eyes, Draco smirked, and Remus and Sirius shared amusing cow-eyed gazes at each other when they thought nobody was looking.

Apparently Remus had made his decision and Harry couldn't be happier. He only wished them as much time as possible, not dwelling on when this miracle might end.

"Yes, we are," he told the witch. "Draco and I will return to England, get the orb, and Apparate back here immediately. Are you sure this little box will control it?" Harry lifted the ten by ten inch box of blood basalt in his hand. "The orb is the brains of the operation." It had the same spells as the larger cabinet, but he still didn't have complete faith in its power to control the most powerful well of magic he'd ever felt.

Wolfwood snorted, his twitching beard framing the man's frown. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Do you doubt us?" Harry looked into those eyes, piercing and astute, threatening physical hell if such a suggestion were claimed.

"No, sir." Harry shook his head. "I have full faith in your stone box. We'll just be going now," he said and grabbed Draco's hand as they left for the Apparition zone.

Even with all of the rushing around and planning and dealing with a room full of strangers, Harry still found he couldn't take his eyes from Draco for too long. He seemed to seek out the blond wizard like a child seeking out rich chocolate or a prince seeking his… umm, well not necessarily princess. But he felt drawn to Draco, and he cherished this new and encompassing feeling.

He squeezed Draco's hand, who gripped at his in return and with a warm smile from his lover, they Apparated to Our Holy Weeper, asleep in the heart of night.

There was little security at the church and so close to midnight that nobody was around. The two men slipped in with simple spells until they stood above the sanctum below.

As before, tendrils of power from the orb clutched at Harry, seeping up from its buried sanctuary beneath the flagstones of the church floor. Its power had inundated even more of the little parish than it had just a few nights ago and Harry wondered at the strength of it.

His stomach rolled over as he felt that power lunge towards him, attempting to burrow into him like ravenous larva. Bile burned the back of his throat.

"Draco, we need to hurry," he groaned out, desperately attempting to occlude his mind, cut off any pathway that the orb might be forging to control him. It tickled his brain and dug in, with claws, with teeth, with barbed hooks. Harry felt each cut, each pierce. "Draco!" As panic snuffed all sense, the air zinged with magical energy. Small items rose into the air, candle chandeliers began to sway in a non-existent breeze.

"Harry. Harry, I'm here. Come on, hang in there. Remember the wall." A wall? Harry grasped on this word like a truth amidst lies. "Just sit here and remember the stone wall. I'll be right back."

A tight feeling within him, a squeeze on his heart, shocked Harry from his frenzy. With little grace, he flopped against the church wall and slid his body to the floor, his arms loose at his sides as he pressed his back against the wood panelling. With everything muddled—his senses, his brain—he felt uncomfortably detached. He blinked and watched as Draco descended, a blurry form a million miles away. He was cold, cold and alone in this vast void. He might as well give it up. Silence cloaked him and he felt the world's weight of sorrow pressing all around him. But, there was something within him, a strong hold on his heart, supporting him from the inside. And as he struggled to keep his head afloat, eyes squeezing away the cloudy haze, Harry felt the orb's power severed.

He fell to the floor in relief, sucking in lungfuls of clear, beautiful air.

"Got it," Draco called out as he appeared from the sanctum, stone box in his hands and brow glistening with sweat. He drabbed at his forehead with a silk handkerchief. There was a weariness to his eyes, a downward dip to his normally straight lips. He looked done in.

"Draco, you okay?" Harry asked, pushing to his feet to lurch to the man's side.

"Yeah… just, don't take so much, okay." He gave Harry an apologetic look and Harry's eyes grew large in realisation. Realisation of what Draco had done for him, of what power the orb had grown into.

Harry reached up and brushed at the back of his neck. "You gave me your strength again." He felt like such a leech.

"Well, we're still connected. I felt it prudent to leave a channel open between us in case of such… incidents." He lifted the box to prove his point. Harry stepped away from it, hands behind his back. "Let's get back before Scrimgeour figures out we took his toy. Then we can destroy the entire fucking thing… and get on with our lives," Draco said with a sharp look in his eyes, a look that held determination. Then his features softened, a smile played at the edges of his lips. Harry felt his skin tingle at the look and he couldn't stop the smile that formed.

"Yes. Let's go."

He reached out a hand and drew Draco close to him, and they popped out of existence.

* * *

A lone figure stepped out from behind a door open just a crack. His hair hung in clumps and a crop of stubble sprouted over his face. His unsheathed wand glowed slightly from the recent tracking charm he'd just cast.

"Yes." His strained voice barely formed the words. "Lead me to the rest of it, Potter. Lead me to my Staff."

* * *

The assembled coven and guests aligned themselves along the edge of the large protection circle. Positioned in the centre were the three artefact pieces locked within the blood basalt cage, a black monolith, its presence looming over them. Huge pillar candles provided scant illumination, washing the room in a sickly green light.

Dressed all in white robes Apis, Wolfwood, and Alissa, as well as nine other elders of the coven, waited until the midnight hour slipped into place. Their hoods were draped over their bowed heads, hiding their faces. Even the kid was wearing robes. Their feet planted on the circle's rim, the twelve waited, the room full of expectancy, even the air had a heavy feel to it. Heavy with hope, heavy with dread. Harry stood amongst them, ready to lend his strength to stabilise the ritual if necessary, Sirius by his side. Popicon, Remus and Draco were stationed back a step with the rest of the witches and wizards, on magical stand-by.

Harry looked over at Sirius, who stared towards the centre of the circle. Some focused thing in his gut told him this might be the last opportunity he would have to examine Sirius, his godfather, a guiding light for too few years. His eyes grew watery as he looked upon that strong man who had gone through so much, and he wished in vain that he could give him more time and more happiness. It was useless; he had no such power. Instead he did what he could; he reached out and grabbed his godfather's hand.

Startled, Sirius looked over at him, his head cocked at an angle so akin to Padfoot that Harry couldn't contain his smile. Sirius smiled back, so sure and full of effortless poise. Harry loved that about him.

Neither man spoke, but as the seconds danced from one instant to the next they continued holding hands and smiling at each other as if their mere existence was something to cherish and delight in, and it was.

And then it was time.

Apis began to chant, and as the sanctuary of peace the two men had conjured faded, they dropped their hands and turned to face the stone box.

Latin flowed from Apis' lips with all the power of lava and fire. The witch's voice burned, echoed through the building, and Harry suppressed an instinct to smash his hands over his ears to drown out the deep reverberations. A few others didn't. Remus flinched at the edge of Harry's peripheral vision. Sirius stood stoic, unmoving, eyes only on the artefact awaiting its destruction.

The end was near; Harry could handle the pain of these words for the freedom he could sense waiting for them all.

* * *

Fifteen of his most powerful servants stood outside of the large building buried under feet of snow. The sky was cloudy and dark, a starless abyss above, and the wind lashed across the open fields of white.

His orb was trapped, separated from him. He couldn't feel it anymore. Without its support, Scrimgeour felt weak, a hollow man. All he knew was that he had to get it back, had to rescue his beautiful sun, to keep it safe, keep it with him always.

He studied his servants, none met his eyes. "Shacklebolt." The tall man turned towards him, his furtive eyes meeting Scrimgeour's, and flinched. "Come here," Scrimgeour ordered around his thick tongue. He thought he'd bit into it, as swollen as it was, but he felt no pain and tasted no blood. Numb. All he felt was numb without his orb.

Speech frustrated him, that his words slipped together and his mouth felt watery was somehow insulting. When he was with the orb he had no need for verbal communication, he had no need for anything, and now that his shiniest jewel had been taken and he had to rescue it from destruction, he needed those skills long ago sacrificed.

"Shacklebolt." Shacklebolt looked upon Scrimgeour with disgust, his nose scrunched by a badly disguised frown. But there was also a fearful glint to Shacklebolt's eye, appeasing some of Scrimgeour's annoyance. He swallowed a pool of saliva, tasting sharp and metallic. There might be blood there, he wasn't certain. Maybe it was bile. "Take half the men 'round back; tear the wall down if you have to. The rest will follow me through the front. Do you understand?"

Shacklebolt nodded, but didn't speak.

"Do you comply?" Scrimgeour demanded.

"Yes, sir. I will do as you command." The Auror's eyes shifted away after he assured his allegiance, eyeing the weak glow of the moon behind the thick clouds.

Scrimgeour had noticed the signs as well; a storm was on the way. A tingle of electricity skated through the air; every particle was charged.

"Good. Then go." Shacklebolt nodded, then turned, and with a gesture gathered seven men with him. Together they trudged through the snow, disappearing around the edge of the building. The others gathered around Scrimgeour, ready for his next command.

Yes, indeed, a storm was brewing.

* * *

Arms raised high overhead, Harry followed the actions of the other participants swaddled in white. He didn't know all of the chants, but he could certainly follow obvious movements as easily as any toddler could play Patty Cake.

The cage containing the artefact now glowed a deep purple, exuding power and hate and a sentience that Harry found immensely creepy. It wasn't right or natural. Harry raised his arms again, pushing out his power to aid the spell and give strength to the men and women surrounding him.

Everyone was focused on the heart of their circle, on the box and the power of Apis' words. A low whine began rising in the air; it played just below the normal level of hearing, but somehow he could sense it, like a dog whistle, just beyond reach. The purple glow swelled and pulsed; Harry stared at it as churning butterflies filled his gut.

The glow pulsed, deepened, thrummed with that inaudible sound, until Apis crumbled to the floor.

"Oh my God!" cried one woman as witches and wizards began to collapse. Everyone scanned the warehouse. They barked questions about their leader and about what was going on, the urgency of their ritual forgotten without any form of leadership. Then from the chaos stepped an alien thing, almost oozing up to them with its awkward pace, a thing of repulsion that caused Harry to swallow hard to keep his stomach contents intact.

"Stop this, now," the figure ordered. His hair had fallen out from grey skin and his clothing, now filthy and tattered, barely held onto his frame; he looked like a child in giant's robes. His mouth had sunk, and blood and spittle drooled from the corner of it. The thing was Scrimgeour, but a Scrimgeour who had been exsanguinated of everything that made him an independent man.

Harry turned to face the Minister of Magic, but Draco stalled him with a word. "Harry, you need to help finish this. Let the rest of us deal with him." Harry nodded, breathing quick and shallow and turned back to the circle.

"We need to finish this spell. Whoever is next to lead, do it now!" he ordered. Already, Wolfwood had begun to chant, causing the fading purple glow to shine again.

"Protect Wolfwood!" Harry ordered to the overseers, and with overwhelming anxiety for his friends he cut himself off from his outside senses and focused only on the spell, on destroying the evil of the Quetzalcoatl Staff.

* * *

Remus' ears rung with the thrumming and throbbing, and he thought he might go deaf by the end of it all. Or mad. But it continued on like an endless river, and all he could do was stuff bits of cotton into his ears and pray the medi-wizards could heal spell damage to the delicate bones within. Harry stood on the edge with Sirius at his elbow. Remus knew that their moment had gone, understood the temporary nature of it, but he couldn't be blamed for wanting more, for feeling like _he deserved more_.

He spotted Draco, whose eyes were on Harry. Snorting, Remus categorised themselves as groupies, watching and waiting and standing on the sidelines. Merlin, he couldn't wait for this to be over. For the anxiety of his dreams to stop undermining the foundation of his confidence.

But then the piercing noise suddenly ceased and Remus saw that Apis had fallen. He stared in shock like an oaf, just stared like nothing else was happening in the world, wondering _What the hell?_ Then he saw them. A group of men and women swarmed into the room, wands raised. One man, a tall, black man that Remus knew quite well, stood near the back of the room and his face was contorted in disgust and hatred.

When had they snuck in?

"Kingsley?" Remus mumbled the name in confusion.

Everyone milled about, lost without Apis' chant, then a man… a _monster_ stepped forward and spoke, but Remus could understand nothing thanks to his aching ears and the slurred mess of words.

He shared a confused instant with Draco, but then Harry called out to the group.

"We need to finish this spell. Whoever is next to lead, do it now!" His words held power and command. "Protect Wolfwood!" he cried when Wolfwood had begun the spell of power. Everyone jumped to action. Remus understood; he launched himself at the nearest intruder.

He recognized this woman and cast a stunner right at her torso. She was an Auror that Harry had worked with. Agent Castile, he thought. Even as he prepared another spell to disarm the Auror, Remus filed through everything he knew about the Agent. A good woman with a family and ten years on the corps. "Drop it, Castile!" he screamed.

"I can't," wailed Castile, a sob hitching her voice. "Just kill me." Remus took a step back, his heart lurching in his chest. "Just do it," she begged, her face pale and contorted with effort. "We can't stop! _Avada Kadavra_!" The killing curse raced towards Remus, off centre enough that he darted away just in time. _Holy hell_.

"Draco," he called out to the other man.

"I know!" Draco cried, his voice shrill. "Back to back!" Remus turned, shuffling two steps back before he bumped into Draco. Standing with their backs together, they faced outward, protecting their blind spots.

It was mayhem. Ally after ally fell under the unexpected attack even as Draco cast his own spells in return. It became increasingly obvious that these wizards and witches of the Yukon had not recently emerged from a war and had little to no duelling experience. He fervently wished that Harry could join in the melee, could step forward and save the day like he did so many years ago on that rain soaked hill.

He cast another stunner, flashing red through the air.

* * *

Sweat dripped from Harry's brow, slipping along his hairline, down his spine, soaking into the waistband of his trousers. Dark patches spread along his pits and he swore his testicles were cowering up inside his abdomen.

Like a raging geyser, Harry's magical energy surged from him forming the structure of the spell that Wolfwood chanted. Over-stimulated, his nerves felt shredded. Though the men and women of the coven fought valiantly, curses zipping through the warehouse in skewed trajectories towards the invaders, Harry watched stoically as one-by-one they were overcome. The teenage boy struggled to entangle a man Harry recognized from the Ministry, only to trip on his robes and be _Stupefied_ in his carelessness. Another woman charmed one man to float into the air and was sliced apart from a curse she'd never seen coming. Like dominoes, they fell; bodies piled up. Blood coloured sections of the floor as the green candlelight flickered in air the currents stirred by falling bodies.

_Protect Wolfwood, _Harry repeated over and over in his head. This had to end here, no matter the deadly cost.

Popicon flicked off stunner after stunner and Harry had a new-found respect for the researcher. A sparkle crackled across Popicon's body each time a spell slammed into his frame, pushing him back, but the man continued to hold ground.

Their defences were so pitiful, so few of the coven still stood against the handful of Scrimgeour's men. Wolfwood's chant stumbled and Harry looked to the man, the prone form of the high priestess at his feet. His wand was raised to deflect a curse, and Harry cried out, "_Protego!" _surrounding all three in a shimmery shield reminiscent of hot, dry days. It was only a bit of a spell, but still he could feel the spell's demand guzzle down his remaining energy.

A man stumbled towards Harry, his mouth moving but no words rose over the racket of the fighting. Harry watched him as he lifted his wand, and prepared to disarm him the moment he took a breath for his next spell, but then the man went still, upright and frozen and an aura of white glowed from him before he slumped to the ground, revealing Sirius standing behind him.

Relief washed through Harry, his clenched muscles relaxed enough that he could smile at the roguish man. Then came Remus, followed by Draco, all of them supporting him, manoeuvring themselves to face outward, spokes of a wheel with Harry and Wolfwood the hub at the centre. They stood together, protecting each other as Scrimgeour's men bore down upon them. Harry could hear Sirius cackling in the charged air, "Die you fuckers!" and Harry was forced back to that night in the Ministry, Sirius' valour, his defiance of death.

_"Erumpo!" _

The spell shot from the far side, yellow and heavy in the air. It slammed into the blood basalt and the cage shattered sending little shards of stone airborne. A shard hurtling through the air pierced through his shield and gashed Harry's cheek. The blood trickled down his face, mixing with his sweat of fear and exertion.

The box.

"No!" Harry's concentration was shot as he saw the artefacts tumble to the floor and slowly, as if by magnetic force, begin to slide towards each other.

Before he could even act that familiar, overwhelming power tackled him. He bore down on that groping intrusion inside his soul, and dug his fingernails into his palm, focusing on the pain.

"Shit," he cried out, angry and desperate. Remus and Draco glanced at him. With robotic stiffness to his movements, Harry gestured towards the cage. Sirius was already on the move.

Another hex barrelled down on Harry, and he couldn't think, couldn't stop and remember what he had to do as the hungry power lapped at his senses, his mind. He knew it would be too late and was shocked that this was how it would end. All of his struggles, his hard work, all of it like brittle bones in the desert. Then a silver tingle spread across his skin and the hex fizzled on impact. He recognised the feel of Draco's magic, a part of him remaining as the tiny gold dragon. Two of the attackers sprinted towards their tight group, and Remus threw his fist into one man's face, while Draco flipped the other over with a sharp, "_Mobilicorpus_."

"Harry, I think it's time for your dazzling luck to kick in. I'm a bit shy on ideas. Any plans?" Remus yelled as he fought the madman pressing before him, the man's nose a fountain of blood.

Remus wasn't without his own wounds; Harry noticed a trickle slipping from his ear and a gash across his neck. They didn't slow him down, though, as Remus sliced his wand through the air, throwing his opponent across the room.

"Remus." All three men turned to see Kingsley nearby. "Run… get away." Their friend slowly raised his wand. It shook in his grip even as Kingsley continued to speak. "Run, Remus," he begged as a ball of silvery light bubbled from the tip of his wand.

"Remus!" Draco called out, reaching to pull Remus away even as the silver erupted all over the two men. Wand lifted, Harry watched in horror as Remus dropped to the floor, screaming in pain. Draco, thrashing to wipe the silver ooze off himself, twisted this way and that.

_"Stupify," _Popicon yelled and Kingsley fell. But it was too late. Remus writhed on the ground, the air pierced with his scream and the acrid scent of his fear.

Everything was out of control; everything had gone tits up.

Sirius stood beside the artefacts, his hands gripped into fists as his shadowed eyes darted from Remus thrashing on the floor to the artefact, slowing coming together. A look of complete helplessness scrunched up his face. Taking one step towards them, Sirius reached out to his friend, his lover, a cry so full of anger and desperation bursting from his lips.

"Sirius," Harry cried urgently. "Can you stop the Staff?"

Eyes brimming, Sirius nodded.

"Sirius, we'll help Remus. Stop the Staff! Please!" Harry wanted to run to him, to stand by him, but he knew that he'd never escape that deadly hold. The Staff wanted Harry and Harry's own fear of that kept him away, fear of losing himself, fear of what the Staff would accomplish if Harry was its slave. Draco was on his knees, slick with silver but no longer wiping at it, instead sucking the substance off Remus with his wand.

A ripple crossed Sirius' face and all of his torment and concern vanished. He gave one longing look at Remus, then nodded sadly at Harry. Turning away, he walked towards the Dark artefact.

"Harry," Draco called.

Harry watched Sirius, an oddly bereft feeling in his chest as Sirius walked away.

"Remus. He's— He's changing! Like back in the Labyrinth." Draco sounded frantic and Harry finally turned away from Sirius, his heart understanding more than his mind would allow, and looked to Remus.

He was mid-transformation: snout lengthening, appendages twisting, hair sprouting over his entire body. The spell residue had been cleaned off by Draco, but Remus still whinged in anguish.

And in the background, Wolfwood continued his chant; the power of the spell electrified the air, roiling it into tempest.

"Heh. Weakling wizards." The laughter and slurred words were casually tossed at the men as a walking corpse once known as Scrimgeour stumbled towards the artefact. Harry spared him a glance and icy horror swept over him at the monster the Minister had become.

Moony growled, the wolf slipping through Remus' firm control, shocking Harry at the utterly feral sound. Moony got to his feet, and began to stalk the man fuelled by dark powers and stolen lives. Scrimgeour stumbled towards Sirius, who'd just reached the remains of the stone cage. Moony growled and lunged at Scrimgeour, ignoring Harry and Draco. Harry realized why he felt no fear from the werewolf, Moony was protecting them.

But as Moony rounded on Scrimgeour, hunting him like prey, Draco stiffened and that solid support within Harry crumbled.

"Draco?"

Draco gained his feet and with jerking motions walked towards the Staff that shivered as it struggled against Harry and the coven's power to subdue it. Sirius kicked the wicked pieces apart, but they barely separated as if pasted to the floor.

As Harry watched Draco, clueless and overwhelmed, he could still hear Wolfwood chanting, could still feel the power as it swirled around the room preparing to rend the artefact apart forever. Five of the original twelve still stood on the circle's perimeter with a few others having taken the position of a fallen chanter. Many of the invaders had been stunned by his friends and Popicon, the coven members only slowing down the adversary. Wolfwood just needed more time, and time was fast becoming scarce.

"Draco," Harry called. Ignoring him, Draco closed on the orb, the dwindling crowd of witches and wizards letting him pass as they focused on defending themselves and Wolfwood. "Draco, what the fuck?"

Making his decision, Harry abandoned the edge of the circle, leaving behind the protective shield he'd cast over himself, Wolfwood and Apis, and followed after Draco. A part of Harry wanted to scream and attack every single enemy in this room, to curse and kick, let his anger flood and flow around him, but he couldn't let go… he couldn't lose his control and undermine the spell.

The part that worried Harry the most was that the support that had continually flowed from Draco since the Cathedral of Bones was gone. It had become a permanent presence that Harry simply accepted until it was no longer there. He hated its absence, and what it might mean that it had gone missing.

Draco's long legs took him stride by stride towards the three Staff pieces, all twitching like Brownian motion kept them in action. Sirius stared down at the pieces, an empty expression upon his face. He barely glanced up in time to see Draco lurch for the orb.

"Stop him, Harry!"

Spurred into action, Harry dove through the air and slammed into Draco, wrapping his arms around his friend, pulling him to the ground.

"Draco, Draco. Please, love. Draco," Harry mumbled over and over as blank eyes stared towards the swirling orb, just beyond his fingertips. "Draco." Harry rained kisses down upon his face, oblivious to the action around him as he pressed his weight down against Draco's struggles.

He scrambled for that golden dragon, that shard of Draco still within him, and found it. He squeezed it, the action reminding him so much of his mental arts lessons, and then followed the string through his own soul back to Draco's.

_There,_ he thought. _There is Draco, I can _feel_ him. So strong_. "You're so strong, Draco. Fight this thing. I'm here." He poured his energy into Draco as he held and rocked him, constantly murmuring into his ear.

It felt like he was in another world. This wasn't his reality, it couldn't be his _here_. Spells zinged by and people fell and chants were screamed into the night air, and still Harry sat there with Draco in his arms, rocking him, feeding him his strength.

The magic of the chant swirled through the warehouse, catching Harry's hair, sparking along the edge of his teeth. He tasted iron and sulphur.

In the distance, Moony stalked Scrimgeour, blocking his attempts to reach the pieces of the Staff. Sirius took strained steps towards the pieces, now edging together in jerking bouts of movement. Though he didn't have far to go, his progress was slow, his strides long like he'd been caught in a freeze hex. Scrimgeour screached like a tortured beast, swamping the ritual in anger and frustration. Again, the hollow man screamed

Harry watched as Sirius shimmered, losing his solidity, and laid himself over the artefact pieces, reaching his arm for the wayward orb. His shimmer brightened with a blinding flash and in a backlash of power the entire room blacked out. Wolfwood incanted the final words, deep, pregnant with the power of negation. A moment of silence. Another. And then Moony howled, forlorn and full of longing and loss. He howled and howled, and Harry knew that when the lights came up again, Sirius would be gone.

"_Lumos_," someone shouted, filling a tiny bubble of the room with warm wandlight and Harry's prediction was true. Sirius, and the Staff pieces, were gone.

"No!" came another cry, this one slurred and swimming in spit. "Not the orb. My Staff!" But then the cries were lost under a bubble of a sigh and the room settled once again into silence.

Nobody moved and all Harry could do was look on at the empty place where Sirius should have stood, Draco, weak and shuddering, held tight in his arms.

Finally, more wands lit the darkened room. Harry tore his attention away from the empty centre of the circle, turning towards where he last heard Scrimgeour's cry. Moony was sitting there, muzzle stained red and Scrimgeour's body prone at his feet. Snout aimed towards the air, Moony howled again.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

_"I'm calling back to say  
I'm home now, I'm coming around"_

_Tegan and Sara – The Con_

A chill hung in the air, stiff in the early morning. Harry's eyes, veiled and dark before the dawn, reflected nothing, but Draco still looked deeply within, waiting for the sun's revealing rays. They stood outside in the vast tundra, silent and unyielding against the cold sting.

Draco reached out and took Harry's hand in his, squeezed, but there was no response.

To his right, Remus paced through the snow. He'd been doing that for a while, just walking back and forth, head hanging, shoulders slumped. Every so often he would punch his thigh or grip his fists. The snowfield became scarred by his progress.

Slowly the sky grew lighter and the sun peeked above the flat horizon. Draco looked back into Harry's eyes sand saw them water; his face scrunched trying to hold in his sorrow. He squeezed Harry's hand again, and this time Harry squeezed back.

"So many dead," Harry said, his voice dull and flat. "Dead…"

Remus screamed and fell to his knees; Harry stood by Draco's side and they watched on.

"Harry," Draco started, "shouldn't you go…" He gestured towards Remus. Harry looked at him like he wasn't exactly sure who Draco was or where they were. Then he stared at Remus pounding his fists into the frozen earth and finally the tears began to fall.

Draco did not know what to do.

* * *

"So, Sirius is gone?"

Harry nodded at Hermione and Remus said, "Yeah, he's gone. But at least he was there for a while, back from the beyond. He even had flesh, for a while." Remus lifted his hands and examined them like they were somehow precious.

"It was Scrimgeour, then?" she asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "He'd been taken over by the orb and had cursed most of magical Britain by the time we'd gotten it. We'll never know just how many, only what Kingsley told us. But after Sirius disappeared, with the orb and the other parts of the Staff, Kingsley and everyone else stopped fighting, released from the orb's dominance." He took a deep breath. He was happy that it was over, happy that he got a chance to see Sirius one more time, and as he looked on at Hermione, sitting up and listening to their stories in her hospital room, he was exceptionally happy that she was okay.

Then he looked over at Draco, sitting in a chair near the door, watching the Gryffindors talking. When he noticed Harry looked at him, Draco smiled.

Hermione reached out to Remus and Harry with her hands. "I'm really, really sorry that he's gone again." Remus nodded. Harry remembered his godfather's bright eyes and cocky attitude.

"But it was a gift really." Remus startled them all with his words. "I got to see him again and tell him how I really felt. It was a second chance and a part of me knew it wasn't anything long term. I knew it would be fleeting."

"Hey guys! Got lunch." Ron walked in with a huge shit-eating grin and bags of take-out. He threw the bags at Remus, Draco and then Harry and sat down on the edge of Hermione's bed and attacked her with his lips. He kissed her mouth, nibbled her ears and nuzzled her neck, all enticing happy giggles from his fiancé.

"Merlin, I'm so happy you're well again. I've missed you." The two sank into a heady kiss, and grinning, Harry cleared his throat.

"I would say 'get a room', but you already have one. Why don't we let you two have a moment and we'll come back later." He noticed they both ignored him and the three men left, chuckling.

They stood in the hallways of St. Mungo's, Mediwitch Periwinkle nodding at Harry and the others as she walked towards them.

"It is good to see you, gentlemen. It was quite a surprise to have Miss Granger awake this morning. Pleasant surprise indeed," she said and winked at Harry as she turned towards Hermione's door.

"Umm, Mediwitch Periwinkle…" Harry started, but before he could warn her, she popped open the door and after a shocked pause, quickly closed it again.

"Well, she appears to be feeling much better. I'll just come back in an hour or so," she said with a slight rose to her cheeks and waved at the men as she returned up the hall. Harry laughed, genuinely feeling better.

"Let's get out of here." The other two men looked at him. "Let's go to Hermione's." Draco grinned and Remus actually cracked a small smile as well.

"What are you going to do now that she's better? She's going to want her place back, you know," Draco said, his grey eyes sharp. Harry wondered just what he was up to.

"Yeah, I know. Maybe she and Ron will end up getting a place together and I can sublet." He hadn't really thought about what he was going to do when Hermione got better. That was the goal and the goal was attained and there wasn't anything else on the horizon. He didn't have a job; he hated his own place…

Then he looked at Draco, who smirked.

"Well, let's go there… we at least need to say good-bye to the place. I'd practically been living there myself," Remus said. Harry nodded, but continued to watch Draco. He couldn't take his eyes away as they walked towards the Floo centre.

Hermione's place was as they left it: papers scattered, books piled atop the tables, a set of bedding neatly folded on the couch. It felt like home. "Damn, I'm going to miss this place," Harry said, rubbing at the back of his head.

He and Remus shared a look. They had both tackled a lot in the past few months, both met a few demons and conquered them and found peace in the moments in between. Harry wished Sirius was still here for Remus, still here for him.

Harry went to the refrigerator and grabbed some drinks: pumpkin juice and pop. Remus cocked an eyebrow at the pop Harry poured into a glass.

"Sorry," Harry said and then returned to the kitchen to set the kettle to brew. "English breakfast, I know, I know." Draco laughed and sat down at his chair at the table, Remus sat in his and Harry pulled out his own. It felt like old times; not that long ago.

Silence descended on them.

"Remus," Harry began and the older man looked up at him. "I've been thinking. I don't have a job anymore and really, I don't want to work for anyone either. I don't know what I want to do. So, I was thinking of opening a shop." Remus frowned at him. "I'm just not sure what kind. Any suggestions?"

"Well, there are always books, tried and true," he said with a self-deprecating smile.

"I personally like the club idea, myself," Draco suggested. He still had that glint in his eyes. While Harry and Remus felt contemplative, Draco just looked amused at something. His own inner secret.

"I was thinking spell development, but on a personal level. Kind of like the twins' joke shop, but with more household spells. Maybe even have a section of things that every pureblood knows about but that Muggleborns would be clueless about." He shrugged as Draco laughed at him.

Remus hummed in thought. "Actually, that sounds like a good idea, Harry. You could maybe even have classes."

Harry nodded eagerly, he hadn't thought of that and the idea of having something new to work on was very welcome. Plus, he'd always liked teaching. The kettle began to whistle and Harry rose to putter around making the tea. "So, Remus," Harry said, returning with the cups of tea and ready to drop his big question, "Will you help set it up and run it with me?"

Remus' eyes grew and a thousand emotions flittered across his face. "Oh come on," Harry cajoled. "You're an excellent wizard. You grew up in a mixed household so you know the things that Muggle raised wizards, like myself, need to know. And I will need the help once the shop is open. Plus," he added, looking hard into Remus' eyes so he could see that this wasn't charity or pity. "Plus, I really like working with you Remus, we work well together, and I don't want to lose that."

Remus' Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, then he nodded his head. He nodded it so vigorously his hair quivered and his grin stretched so wide his face looked like it hurt. "Harry, I would love to run a spell shop with you." And he stood and Harry stood and the two men embraced, slapping each other's backs and laughing.

When they parted Harry turned to Draco who was sipping at his steaming cup. "And you… I was hoping… I know you have Rain and everything, but… being a pureblood you could really help out and…" Harry stumbled over what he was saying even as what he said to Remus came out so easily.

"Harry," Draco said, taking pity on him. "I would love to partake in your little shop." He winked. "However, I was thinking—" His eyes darted over to Remus and he made a mental decision. "I know that Hermione's has been a home to you and that you don't want to go back to your own flat. I would like to offer my place for you to stay, for as long as you want. I too," he looked down at the table, oddly shy, "have grown used to your presence and would be disturbingly at a loss if you weren't around."

He put down his tea cup and then looked back up at Harry. Those eyes flashed and Harry reached for him and pulled him close. The two men kissed, passion flashing in Harry's veins burning away all uncertainty. From the side he heard Remus say, "Well, on that note—I shall be in touch, Harry. Please enjoy yourselves."

Neither man noticed as Remus left the flat.

* * *

_One Year Later_

The bell rang and Remus glanced up from a large burlap bag over-stuffed with dragon egg shell shards he was reorganizing into smaller packages.

"Hello, Remus," Kingsley said with a broad grin. He held a large sack in his arms. Remus noticed the tired look that had swarmed about him like a hundred angry bees was slowly easing away.

"Kingsley, welcome. How are you today?" he asked, setting aside the multicoloured shells and walking up to the counter.

"Oh fine. Just here for some more Whittaker's Powder. Can't find it as good a quality anywhere else…" Remus raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at Kingsley. "Not that I've been looking," Kingsley hastily added.

The bell rang again and the bright light of the early afternoon shimmered on the glass door as it opened, letting in Hermione and Ron.

"Really, Ronald, I don't think that Ginny would appreciate such a thought. It isn't like she wants recognition just because she is dating Hannah Abbott. Put down that Pride Flag. Really," Hermione ranted and Ron looked sheepish. Kingsley and Remus shared a look.

"Hey there," Remus greeted. Kingsley smiled in welcome.

"Hello, Remus. Kingsley," Hermione said as Ron enthusiastically waved a rainbow coloured flag. Remus noticed it was missing one of the blue stripes.

"What is that?" Remus asked and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's a flag," Ron said, waving it again as he smiled deeply. "Ginny's gay!"

Kingsley's eyebrows rose. "Didn't see that coming," he said with a deep chuckle.

"He found out Ginny was dating a woman and now he's all excited he has a lesbian in the family, like he's trendy now or something," Hermione said with her perfected eye roll. "It isn't like you don't already have a gay best friend, and she's really bisexual. Oh, Remus, do you think I could get some unicorn blood from you." She batted her eyelashes at Remus, which only made him laugh more.

"Hermione!" Ron said. "Are you flirting with Remus for unicorn blood?"

Remus snorted.

Hermione turned to Ron, eyes wide. "Of course I wasn't flirting with Remus, Ron!" She reached up and kissed her husband. Then in a low voice she said, "The blood here is taken from willing unicorns, not forced. It makes for better healing potions… not that I would use blood stolen from a unicorn… that just isn't right."

"Speaking of gay best friend, where are Harry and Draco?" Ron asked, looking up from his wife with a happy grin. His arms were wrapped tight around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. Remus couldn't help but be happy to see them together. It'd taken a while for Hermione to get her life back together after months in that magical coma, but she was back; her department reinstated her, she married Ron, and the two now stopped by Spellworks and Magicpots in Diagon Alley every few days. As unexpected as it was to Remus, it had become their new gathering spot and Remus never felt more connected to his friends than he did these days.

"In the back. Though, if you _do_ go back there, be careful. They're researching hovering charms. They saturated their shoes and more often than not, come crashing down with no notice," Remus said, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter.

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Oh, sounds interesting," and she left through the back door calling, "Harry, Draco, I'm coming through." Soon after there was a loud crash and Harry yelled, "Draco, you okay?"

Remus couldn't help but laugh and soon Kingsley and Ron joined him.

"So, looks like business is going well," Kingsley said as he eyed the counters and shelves full of a collection of marvellously practical items any witch or wizard would find handy.

"Oh, it is going very well," Remus nodded. He enjoyed running and owning Spellworks and Magicpots with Draco and Harry. The arrangement worked well for them all.

"And your book?" Kingsley asked. "How is that doing? I've read it and thought it was rather good. You did cover some very simple stuff, though, but I guess that was the point."

Ron walked over to a shelf and picked up a set of buttons complete with a small skein of thread and a needle. "What's this?"

"Self threading stitching kit," Remus said. "And the book is doing well. You wouldn't believe how many letters we get from Muggleborns thanking us. The purebloods take so much for granted. Our other book for the other half is going to be finished soon. One for purebloods to understand Muggleborns, modern Muggleborns, not those old fashioned texts as dry as Binn's lectures."

Kingsley clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, all of you," he said, a small, thoughtful smile setting on his lips.

"Kingsley! Ron!" Harry burst out from the back room followed by Hermione and Draco. His hair stood on end and black smudges covered his face.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked, setting down the stitching kit.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Harry decided to try some special propulsion spell along with the hovering charm on the boots, and let's just say it needs a bit of reworking." Harry turned back to look at Draco and just beamed. Remus' heart twinged… just a bit.

"Why don't you close up shop early and let's all go to Rain," Ron suggested. Every face in the shop took interest in that. Harry turned to Remus and gave him an eager look.

"What do you say, Remus?" he asked. Somewhere along the line, Remus ended up running the 'business' side of the business, though Draco did enjoy helping with the finances when he wasn't buried under his club's paperwork.

He tried to look stern, but then gave up under the five sets of eager eyes. "Okay, fine. Let's go." Harry jumped slightly and hovered a few seconds before he touched down again.

"Oh no," Draco said, shaking his head. "You are not wearing those boots out in the street. Who knows what might trigger you floating up to the moon."

"But," Harry began, so joyous and youthful, "I'll be a hit on the dance floor!" The years of anger and frustration could not stand up to the happiness he had with Draco.

Draco shook his head. "No, don't you argue with me."

"Fine," Harry said with mock annoyance and left for the backroom again. Draco looked around at the crowd and shrugged. Remus laughed, it was all so very normal.

He helped out the last few customers in the shop, telling them they were closing early for a very important celebration, and then they were ready, Harry standing in his usual trainers—not quite so fancy—firmly settled on the ground.

As Remus locked up, everyone gathered in the street, chatting amongst themselves. He turned the key, setting the wards, and took a moment to look into the shop. This was his. Sure he shared it, but it was _his_, as was his life, and he was happy.

Above the register hung two large portraits. One of them of Harry, Hermione and Ron, designed from a photograph of them straight out of Hogwarts after Voldemort had been destroyed. Remus could see the tired look in each of their eyes even as they smiled in relief for the camera. It was a moment when each of them knew they would survive the world, where they accepted that they were heroes and realized they each had a future.

The other portrait was also painted from an old photo. It was a photo Remus had looked at every day for years after Harry had been orphaned. Now it was a portrait and the people within smiled at him with joy.

His own eyes, younger but hopeful, gazed at him. Around him were Sirius, James and Lily. Peter was not included in the portrait, though the little rat was in the original. It was better this way, and as he stared at the Sirius in the portrait, the portrait Sirius wrapped his arms around the portrait Remus and the two smiled at each other.

Remus didn't regret anything. Life was hopeful and he had no more shadows to fear. He turned his back on the shop and the portraits and walked out into the sunny day.

The End.


End file.
